


heart open, bloodstain on my sleeve

by silkbombs (mulberrygrey)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Art Student Louis, Art Student Zayn, Bottom Louis, Crossdressing, Fluff, M/M, Public Sex, Really fucking cracky i apologize, Riding, Thief Harry, Top Harry, Twink Louis, kind of, louis wears panties bc this is self indulgent as hell, not really he just wears glasses and beanies and big jumpers, ridiculously mushy romantic sex, some ring kink i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-05-04 11:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5332667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mulberrygrey/pseuds/silkbombs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I couldn’t help myself,” Harry admits, one hand coming to rub the back of his neck, “I stared at you for a good while before I finally got the guts to come up to you. You looked so pretty sitting there, with your little ankles and your pencil in your mouth, so enthralling… art in front of art.”</p><p>Louis’ not sure what to say, so he just kind of sits there, eyes bugging out as he stares at Harry.</p><p>“I mean, like you’re not an object!” Harry rushes out, babbling.</p><p>“I just, there’s something about you that’s so captivating, and maybe it’s the way your eyes are like a watercolor painting of the sea, or how delicate your hands look when you draw, but I just wanted to get to know you. It’s not like I pick up random boys at art museums usually, I swear. Not that I’m trying to pick you up! Unless you want to be…God, fuck I’m sorry this is so awkward now. I can go, um, if you want."</p><p>---<br/>Or, the one where Harry's the long limbed, gangly, sweetheart who just happens be a high profile art thief who conducts heists for a living and Louis' the loud, pushy art student who just happens to steal his heart.</p><p>NOW COMPLETE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Today is  _not_ Louis’ day.

It starts with his alarm, blaring in his ear thirty minutes later than it should have. He wakes up with his head pillowed on a composition notebook, a steady string of drool leaking out of the corner of his mouth and the remnants of hangover pounding in his head. His first class starts in ten minutes, is halfway across campus, he’s still dressed in the clothes he had worn the previous day, and god does he need some deodorant. He winces as he stubs his toe against the wall on his way out the door, struggling to get his head through the hole in his jumper, glasses askew. A handful of Weetabix and a quick swig of cold, day old coffee later, he runs to class, barely making it on time. By the time lecture ends, it’s cold and wet outside, heavy showers of rain having swept throughout the city during his Illustration and Visual Media class.

 And now here he is, sprawled on the ground, after coming across a particularly slippery patch of water on the street.

“For fucks sake!”

 Louis groans, rubbing the seat of his now-wet skinny jeans.  The sidewalk is hard and cold underneath him. Puddles of rainwater left over from this morning’s storm are strewn haphazardly on the street and walkway.

He whimpers. There’s a sharp sliver of pain near his foot, the skin just above his slim, knobby ankles torn up. One bright crimson line of blood drips down his skin, red striking and crisp against the cloudy steel greys and murky browns of post-rain London.

  _That’s what you get for running after a rainstorm, genius. Stop being such a damn klutz._

 His papers seem to have fallen along with him, scattered and drenched in rainwater. Louis pushes himself up, ignoring the scrape on his ankle, and scurries to salvage the remains of his paper for his  _Methods of Art History_ class.

 He winces when he sees what's left of it-- a mess of smudged black ink, words bleeding into one another -- and stuffs it in his backpack. He’ll have to print a new copy at the library before class. It’ll cost him seven cents per page- which is, pardon his language, total bullshit. He’s a broke college student and every bit of money goes a long way. Who knows what else he could be doing with that extra 28 cents?  

Not printing papers.

 Definitely not printing papers. That money could be going towards something more important, like beer. Or into his world domination fund.  Which will definitely happen someday.  

Right now, beer seems more likely.

“Oh fuck,” Louis breathes as he feels his phone buzz in his pocket, fingers sliding across the screen as he opens the call, “Niall?”

“Tommo! Where are ye buddy? It’s 11:40,” Niall pauses for a moment, the muffled sound of Zayn’s voice coming into the background, “—sorry,  _11:43_  if you want to be precise pain in the arse, thanks.  You were s‘pposed to meet us for coffee.”

Louis rubs his eyes tiredly, memories of last night’s all-nighter flashing through his head: his back sore against his chair, a bottle of shitty rum next to his computer, eyelids drooping drowsily, fingers cramped up as he tried to finish his report-- which is now, wet and currently  balled up in his bag. 

_Coffee is exactly what I need_.  _Something with a ridiculous amount of whipped cream. And sugar._

“We’ve been waiting here a while now – thirty minutes  _I know Zayn, feck off for a moment_  – I’ve already finished my second McMuffin and I’m running out of food, and Zayn’s getting all  _you know_. He’s hunched over and I’m pretty sure he just broke his third chalk thingy-- _er charcoal._  Makes no difference to me, lad.”

And fuck, Louis knows  _exactly_  how Zayn is when things don’t go to plan.  He gets all moody –- even more than he usually is, which is saying something -- and grouchy and Louis will probably end up getting the silent treatment.

He’ll have to sit in his lap and tug on his hair and bribe him with weed and cheap liquor until he finally breaks or becomes too annoyed with him to keep ignoring him and then they’ll end up getting high and shotgunning and Zayn will get paint all over him which will be a pain in the arse to wash out and that’ll take the entire day and with finals, the showcase, and the due date of his portfolio just around the corner Louis… Just. Doesn’t. Have. The. Time.

“Shit, I’m sorry Nialler. I’m almost there, I just had a momentary uh… slip. You know how it is. I’ll be there soon I promise,”

“No problem mate, just gives me more time to get the scone I’ve been eyeing. Just make sure you come before Zayn tears up his art pad, yeah? Don't want that happening again."

“Yeah, of course. I’ll see you in a couple minutes,”

 Louis hangs up the phone before Niall can reply.

He sits on the ground for a moment, mind wandering as he stares at his awkwardly sprawled legs, an ant crawling across the toe of his shoe.

The showcase is in a week and Zayn’s been driving him up the wall for the past few days, blasting Biggie, The Weeknd, and oddly enough, Telemann in the apartment, as he paints furiously, a whirlwind of oil paint and intense focus.

Zayn’s restless muse and the piles of work he has for school have guaranteed him a case of sleep deprivation and the effects have been hitting him  _hard._

The sky roars for a moment, a loud, booming clap of thunder shaking the city as it begins to pour. Rain falls from thick, fat clouds strung among the skyline like a string of paper cranes.

_I could draw those. All big and fluffy and whatnot. Cumulonimbus clouds, those are the ones that rain comes from-- and, wow I can’t believe I remembered that,_  he thinks _._

It takes him a minute to process what’s happening, head angled up at the sky, rain drenching his hair, eyes alit with the dim stream of sunlight that filters through the opaque sky.

“Fuck you too, weather.” Louis swears, shaking himself out of his reverie and stumbling as he tries to get back on his feet. The world teeters for a second, his head pounding. 

_Note to self: Sleep is good. Procrastination is bad. Alcohol does not, in fact dull the pain that is Dadaism._

A woman with a kid bundled in a bright yellow raincoat passes him on the street. She glares at him, a look of disapproval on her face as she covers her child’s ears.

“It’s just a word! It won’t hurt anyone, see? Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He calls after her.

Which promptly earns him at least ten more dirty looks from passer-bys on the street.

_Again,_ today is not his day.

 

****

 

_The Drip_  is just around the corner, an independent cafe sandwiched between a frozen yogurt place and a hat boutique. Louis ducks inside, the door swinging open with the familiar chime of silver bells clicking together. It’s warm, painted a pleasant mocha brown, hand painted mugs stacked against one wall towering above his head, low yellow lights beaming down from round glass bulbs fixed on the ceiling, casting a soft glow throughout the store. The smell of espresso, fresh bread, cinnamon, and chocolate floats through the air, the low chatter, clinking of porcelain , and muted whirr of coffee machines colliding into one another, creating a familiar song that sounds like the morning and smells like home.

Louis shivers as he stands in the doorway, dripping and cold. He tugs his jumper off, twisting it as he wrings the water out of his clothes as best as he can and wipes the drops of rain that cling to his glasses away. The line by the counter is short, and he’s at the top of the queue in minutes.

“Liam, how’re you doing mate?”  He pushes his backpack next to the cash register and fishes around for a couple of damp, crumpled, notes.

“Hello, Louis. I’m doing fine. How are you?” Liam greets pleasantly, thick eyebrows raised, and sometimes Louis swears that he’s 80% eyebrow.

He’s got an apron tied around his waist, laid over a crisp, periwinkle button down, the sleeves rolled up his forearms, biceps bulging in his shirt (and really, is being  _that_ fit necessary for a barista?). There’s a little nametag pinned to his breast, and his short hair is formed in a sculpted quiff.  He’s perfect, a little too perfect and a little too uptight—which, makes riling him up all the better for Louis.

“Feelin’ a little under the weather actually,” Louis quips, swinging his legs across the counter, wet fringe flopping against his forehead as fat drops of water land on Liam’s pressed shirt. “Get it? Because I was literally under the weather? Have a sense of humor, Payno.”

Liam purses his lips and glances down at his now damp shirt. Louis grins. Not everyone appreciates puns.

“Oh, lighten up. It’s Friday. Cheers.”

“Do you want your usual order?” Liam ignores him, promptly reaching for a box of Yorkshire tea.

“No,” Louis glances behind him, surveying the café for Zayn.

He’s in the perfect position to annoy Liam and embarrass Zayn at the same- killing two birds with one stone if you ask him. He finds him sitting in the corner with Niall, who’s got a huge blueberry muffin stuffed in his mouth, two crumpled McDonald’s bags around him. Niall waves him over when he sees him, crumbs falling out of his mouth as he grins.

“Louis!” He yells from across the room, bouncing in his seat, pageboy hat almost falling off with the momentum, and Louis just kind of wants to pet his hair and give him a noogie at the same time.

“Oi!” Louis calls back, smiling at Niall and staring at Zayn until he looks up from whatever he’s sketching.

Zayn pauses, a stubby charcoal poised between his fingers. His eyes are stormy, dark brows knit, as he gives Louis a look that says fuck-you-for-being-late-and-don’t-you- _dare_ -do-anything-in-front-of-Liam-that-will-embarrass-me-or-get-us-kicked-out- _again_.

Louis shrugs and gives Zayn a thumbs up. Zayn glares at him once more before he looks behind him, eyes immediately softening when he catches Liam’s gaze and  _oh,_ this is just  _too good_.

Liam is one of Zayn’s few soft spots, along with him of course, and sometimes Niall (Zayn’s a little softer toward Louis no matter how much he wants to deny it, and Louis’ got the embarrassing pictures of him asleep, wrapped around his waist on his phone for proof-- and blackmail).

Zayn’s had a crippling crush on Liam since their second year of Uni, when they first discovered  _The Drip_ on a bitingly cold day in London. The three of them had slipped into the little cafe, hands frost bitten and cheeks pinked, and Zayn literally,  _literally_ melted into a pile of goo when Liam asked him his order.

 It was the first time Louis had seen Zayn, nonchalant, cool, mysterious, I’m _-too-attractive-to-be-talking-to-you_ Zayn at a loss for words. Louis had to order for him. Zayn believes in selective memory. Louis, however, does not, and he very much enjoys reminding him that yes, Zayn, you really did turn into an incomprehensible pile of sludge, and yes I did have to order your plain black coffee for you while you stared into Liam’s dreamy eyes, you lovesick twat.  

Zayn likes to pretend that his crush on Liam isn’t anything more than a passing fad, but Louis knows better, no matter how much Zayn insists that his sudden fascination in color composition with different shades of brown has absolutely  _nothing_ to do with the fact that Liam’s eyes are brown. This  _thing_ Zayn has for Liam has persisted for almost  _two_ years now and nothing has happened and it’s actually driving Louis up the wall. They’re absolutely infuriating, the two of them, and Zayn refuses to do anything about it even though Liam is clearly just as interested in him as he is in him.

So Louis’ taken it upon himself to do something about it. Or at least embarrass the two as much as possible-- they’ll thank him someday.

“You know Liam,” Louis pouts, bottom lip jutting out, “I could really use a hug. I’m sleep deprived, was out in the rain, slipped in a puddle earlier and bruised my arse, and my day’s been rubbish. Wrap those big strong arms around me. You don’t spend all your time lifting for nothing, yeah?”

He holds his arms out, wiggling his eyebrows when he notices that his wet shirt is clinging to him, nipples hard underneath the thin black fabric. Liam blushes, and  _yeah_ Louis’ still got it.

“Oh well, I supp-”

Liam doesn’t finish his sentence, because there’s Zayn, a hurricane of leather, denim, tobacco, and the smell of acrylics barreling into Louis.

“He’ll have his usual Yorkshire tea. Milk. No sugar. Come on Louis,” Zayn interrupts, face hot as he lifts him up from the counter effortlessly, throwing a couple of notes in Liam’s direction.

“Wait wait! Why don’t you give Zayn a hug instead? It’ll make me feel better to-”

“Thank you Liam!” Zayn cuts him off, deadly tight grip around his wrist as he drags him back to the table.

“I didn’t want tea,” Louis whines when they’re settled in their seats, “Need sugar.” He’s got one leg propped up against the table, another crossed over his thigh, a napkin pressed against his bleeding ankle.

Zayn scowls at him, his face tipped down, all sharp angles and shadows and pillowy pink lips.

He’s dressed in black today (as usual), ripped skinny jeans exposing his knees, motorcycle jacket slung against the back of his seat, cigarette tucked behind his ear, the only splash of color on him are his maroon Doc Martens.

 He runs one hand along his newly dyed silver-grey hair, a cup of coffee in the other. There are streaks of charcoal in his hair and on his forehead from where his hand was, and he  _still_ looks good. Louis doesn’t bother telling him. He’s a bit petty like that.

“I don’t care.”

“I’m going to order again,” Louis declares.

“No,” Zayn says pointedly, “You are not.”

They stare each other down. Niall stuffs another bit of the fluffy pastry he has in his hands into his mouth, chewing quickly.

“There’s orange peels in this,”

“What?” Louis turns toward him.

“They’re candied. Raisins too,” Niall adds thoughtfully.

Zayn continues to glare at Louis and Louis glares back. Niall wavers awkwardly between them and coughs, pushing himself out of his seat.

“Well-- uh, I’m getting another muffin and maybe one of those chocolate croissants. Want me to order for you Lou?”

“No,” Louis and Zayn both answer in tandem.

“Ohhh--kay,” Niall shrugs, too used to their little grudge matches, eyeing the both of them warily before scuttling off with Zayn’s wallet.

Neither of them notices.

“You’re late,” Zayn breaks the silence as soon as Niall’s out of sight.

“I’m  _aware_. I got caught up this morning and fell in a puddle. M’ all fooking wet couldn’t you tell?”

“Yeah, well. You could’ve gotten up faster. After you fell.” Zayn continues and Louis rolls his eyes, getting out of his seat and plopping himself in Zayn’s lap, ignoring his protests.

“Wet,” Zayn complains, arms hung awkwardly by his side.

“You love me,” Louis teases, grabbing Zayn’s arms and wrapping them around his waist, “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

“Well for starters, I’ve got this drowned, annoying, elf in my lap,”

“I’m 5’9!” Louis punches him in the shoulder. He’s sensitive when it comes to his height.

“You wish,” Zayn mumbles, burrowing his face into his shoulder, and  _yeah_ Louis’ finally broken through his wall of moodiness.

He pets Zayn’s hair fondly, ignoring the pomade that sticks to the spaces between his fingers and he swears he feels Zayn purr against his chest. He’d found out early on in their friendship that no matter how intimidating Zayn seems, he’s basically a cat.

 One of those elusive and intimidating house cats that really just need a little bit of love and a scratch behind the ears.

“I like the new color,” Louis comments, pulling at Zayn’s hair, “Reminds me of Anderson Cooper. Or Danny Phantom.”

“Needed a change,” Zayn hums.

“Maybe I should get mine done. Periwinkle highlights or summat? We’re art students after all, shouldn’t be too weird.”

“Don’t remind me,” Zayn groans, “I don’t want to think about school right now. My muse is gone and nothing I’ve painted is good enough. I’m in academic hell.”

It’s nearing the end of the semester and Louis knows exactly how he’s feeling. He hasn’t been able to pound out a single illustration in the past couple of days, any inspiration he’s had left in him completely drained. They both have their exhibition in just a couple of weeks.  Zayn’s got his oil paintings and he’s got his illustrations he needs to get done.  The deadline is nearing and they’re both a mess of caffeine, tired eyes, and hunched backs.

“Hi,” Niall comes back moments later, croissant between his teeth, balancing two drinks in his hands, “What’re we talking about?”

“School,” Louis says as Niall hands him a paper cup. He takes off the cap and stares inside: milky, beige Yorkshire tea, tiny bubbles floating across the surface. “Showcase is coming up.”

“Ah, yeah. Don’t worry too much lads,” Niall smiles, kicking back in his seat, “I have my Corporate Finance exam coming up and I’m not worried at all.”

Louis shakes his head, putting his tea down and grabbing Niall’s drink instead. He takes a sip, a rush of sugar and caffeine surging down his throat. He hums a bit, a steady thrum of energy ebbing through his veins. His head perks up after a couple more sips, feeling significantly more awake and more human, and thanks the gods for Niall’s affinity for horrifyingly sweet drinks.

“Says you,” Zayn groans, “Not all of us have a rich daddy with a business to pass down. You could fail out of school and you’d be fine. Remind me why you’re even  in Uni again?”

Niall’s the odd one out in their little trio, the only business major amongst a group of art students.

They had met at a bar outside of campus one drunken night. Niall, falling over his seat in a Leprechaun hat, shirt ripped open, had offered to buy them all a pint (Niall’s rich, his dad the CEO of an artisan mead company, and really, who was Louis to refuse free alcohol?) which turned into another round which turned into shots and a fast food run at 3 in the morning and they sort of stuck together since then.

It’s an interesting dynamic, the three of them, Louis the mouthy and sassy one (with a great arse, if he says so himself), Niall the eternal ray of sunshine with a black hole for a stomach, and Zayn the quiet, brooding one. Louis wouldn’t give it up for the world—yes, even world domination. That’s how much he loves these idiots.

“Dad’s paying for it,” Niall shrugs, “School’s fun. There’s parties, food, alcohol. And I met my best mates here!” He smiles, white teeth glinting and eyes wide.

Louis would really hate Niall if he didn’t love him so much –plus Niall always seems to have cash to burn, which is always a bonus.

Love declarations are a wee too sentimental for him right now though, so he settles for ruffling Niall’s bleach blonde hair instead.

“Louis,” Zayn whines (he’s a huge, overgrown, child sometimes), tugging him back into his lap as Louis tries to stand up and get back into his seat, “Come to the museum with me today. I have that assignment due tomorrow.”

“Z, I’m loaded with work right now and I still need to get my portfolio finished.”

“Please? You can sketch there, find some inspiration.”

Louis rips up a napkin, tearing it up into little paper flakes. It falls onto table, pale and white against umber Sheesham wood. He arranges the pieces into a circle and briefly wonders what Niall would look like as the sun in  _Teletubbies_ , mulling over his schedule for the rest of the day. Zayn pulls on his wrist, eyes wide and pleading.

"Okay," Louis gives in, "I might as well get some work done anyway."

"I knew you'd give in," Zayn mumbles into Louis' neck, smile growing against his skin.

"Yeah, whatever," Louis huffs and frees himself from Zayn's grip. He's not whipped. Not at  _all._

 

_****_

 

The museum is quieter than it usually is today, silent save for the occasional shuffle of feet against the ground and the buzz of a phone. Louis’ sat in the atrium on a long plush bench lined with thick, chestnut leather, natural light pouring in from the tall ceiling high windows.

He shifts in his seat, biting down on a graphite pencil between his teeth as he stares at the painting in front of him: Gainsborough’s  _The Watering Place_ , gilt frame rich against the peacock damask walls. There’s a growing stack of discarded sketches next to him, a reminder of the badly-timed art block he’s currently suffering through.

He yawns, pulling his sleeves over his fingers and uncrossing his legs as he stretches, joints cracking as the knots in his back loosen. He needs a break.

Louis makes a couple laps around the room, feet tracing the wood grain of the floor, before stopping in front of a painting of ships on a sea.

There are two boats tipped sideways right before an inevitable collision; tumultuous waves crashing against hulls painted in textured strokes of deep browns and muddled whites. A sail, blown and full in the wind is juxtaposed against a gradient sky, menacing obsidian clouds fading into a pale pearl azure, small upright ships floating on the horizon.

“Now that”, he mumbles to himself, “looks like a disaster waiting to happen.”

Sort of like his GPA if he doesn’t get his shit together soon.

If Zayn were here, he’d probably smack him upside the head and go into some deep analysis, being a painter and all. Louis wants to illustrate children’s books-- he doesn’t need to be that deep.

He sighs, checking the time on his phone. It’s been almost two hours now since they arrived, Zayn having abandoned him early on to finish his Art History assignment, headphones shoved over his ears, leaving Louis to his own devices.

 He’s in the middle of contemplating whether or not he should send Zayn a bored selfie and a text telling him to hurry the hell up, when a deep voice interrupts him.

“ _Dutch Boats in a Gale,_  first exhibited in Turner’s private collection in 1801.”

“I can read the plaque, mate.”

“I see that now,” The stranger laughs, low and soft in his ear.

Louis turns around to face him, ready to tell whoever this is to bugger off for a second, and  _oh_  he’s attractive.

Very, very, very attractive.

Because stranger is a fit  _tall_ young man (Louis has to tip his head back to see his face), probably in his mid-twenties, with a smooth cherub face, strong, angled jaw, soft pale skin, pink bowed lips, and the greenest eyes Louis’ ever seen (he could get lost in those eyes, take a hike in those, go camping in those eyes because they’re like the forest and boy, Louis has never loved nature as much as he does now).

His hair is wild and long, dark, tumbling curls that fall along his broad shoulders and he’s dressed so ridiculously it  _works_. He’s wearing a silky black blouse unbuttoned to his stomach (holy shit he is _cut_ , could probably hold Louis up against a wall), little red flowers printed along the fabric, skinny jeans that are as tight as his own (Louis wears women’s jeggings so that’s saying something), and expensive tan suede ankle boots. There’s a thin scarf tied around his neck along with a long cross pendant, shiny and cool against his bare chest.

He looks expensive, and pretty and Louis just wants to _touch_.

“Hi,” Louis says, staring into his glinting eyes, his own glazing over momentarily.

“Hello,” He greets, drawing out the word languidly, voice sweet and slow like molasses, and Louis could just melt in that all day.

 “I’m Harry.”

“Harry,” Louis repeats, “Like Prince Harry.”

“Yeah. ‘Fraid I’m not royalty, though.” He chuckles.

_You could be_ , Louis thinks,  _with how regal you look and whatnot._

He could pass for a prince; probably rides a horse quite well.

Or ride anything really.

“Thank you,” Harry grins, dimples popping as he breaks Louis’ line of thought, “Never thought I was posh enough to be an equestrian.”

Shit. Did Louis just say that out loud?

“Uhm,” Louis coughs, face bright red. He’s usually smoother than this, “Do you like art?”

_Really?_ Louis scolds himself internally,  _Do you like art? Why else would he be in a fucking art museum?_

“Love it,” Harry answers, glancing back at the painting in front of them, “Especially the romantics. This one in particular, tells a story. A snapshot of the moment right before disaster, two boats on a turbulent sea, dark clouds overcast, a sense of danger contrasted against the still water and clear sky in the background. I particularly enjoy Turner’s use of blues, precise, textured strokes of dark blues in the sea, and smooth light blues in the sky,”

He turns and tips his head down, looking straight into Louis’ eyes so intensely that Louis wants to squirm, “It’s beautiful.”

“Y-yeah. Great stuff,” Louis manages to choke out, tearing his gaze away from Harry’s.

He stares at the ceiling, face hot and red with blush.

 He can deal with cute boys (he lives with Zayn for fuck’s sake); he’s dealt with cute boys plenty of times, he’s had boyfriends and he’s been told he’s a bit of a flirt, but Harry’s just so intense and sincere its unnerving and he kind of wants to bury his face in a pillow and squeal like a teenage girl with a crush.

But he’s an adult and he’s only known Harry for like what, 3 minutes now?

He’s not in grade school any more.

Get it together Louis.

“Louis,” Is what he ends up saying, clever thoughts turning into mush somewhere along the way.

“Hm?”

“Louis, uh, that’s my name. Louis Tomlinson,” He says, sticking his hand out awkwardly.

Harry takes it, amusement glittering in his eyes. His grip is firm, long fingers covered in rings.

Louis stares at his own hand, small in Harry’s large one, a flutter of something bubbly and warm blooming in his chest.

“Your fingers are freezing,” Harry says fondly, a hint of a smile in his voice, and he takes Louis’ other hand in his own free one, rubbing warmth into his palms.

 And Louis sort of gapes, because here he is, standing in the middle of a museum, holding hands with a complete stranger he just met minutes ago, and Harry’s looking at him like he’s known him for years and that this is the most normal thing in the world.

Honestly, who even is this guy _?_

“Circulation problems,” Louis answers, mind momentarily blank as Harry runs his thumb along the back the back of his hand.

“Yeah? You’re so tiny, I’m not surprised,” Harry teases.

“’M not tiny, I’m 5’9,” Louis frowns, snatching his hand away from Harry’s and pushing himself on his toes a little, because  _that_ is a sore spot.

Stupid genetics.

“You’re just abnormally tall. You related to giants?”

“Heyyy,” Harry whines, “I’m not  _that_  tall.”

“You sure about that, mate? Because I have to crane my head back to even get a proper look at your face,” Louis quips, and yeah this is good because he’s no longer an incomprehensible puddle of mush and banter is his thing.

“Aww, ” Harry coos, bending at his knees so he’s eye level with Louis, “How’s this?”

“Cheeky one, are you?”

He pokes at one of Harry’s dimples.

“When I want to be.”

Harry straightens up, long legs gangly and giraffe- like as he strides across the room, plopping back down on the bench Louis was sitting at earlier.

“Find any inspiration?” He says, tapping at Louis’ abandoned sketchbook.

And what?

How does Harry even know he’s been sketching?

He’s been in this room for the past couple hours and he would've noticed someone like Harry earlier. He’s not exactly hard to miss with his long limbs and 1000 watt smile (god does Louis love that smile).

“Not yet,” Louis says cautiously as he sits next to Harry, who’s got his legs crossed into a pretzel shape, curiously prodding at Louis’ discarded sketches, “How did you even know I’ve been drawing here?”

Harry drops one of the papers he’s got in his hands, face turning a faint pink.

He looks at Louis and offers a sheepish smile, one finger twirling a curl nervously. He’s a grown man and that shouldn’t be that endearing.

But it is.

“I um… I was watching you. Earlier.”

“Were you?” Louis raises an eyebrow.

Logically Louis knows he should feel creeped out by the idea of a stranger staring at him for a good hour or so, but all he feels is flattered and the way Harry’s looking at him, all bashful and embarrassed, playing with his hair is just So. Fucking. Cute. 

It’s frustrating, what it is.

 Because he’s just met him, and Harry’s already got him wrapped around his very  _very_  long finger and he’s all curls, dimples, and expensive shoes and Louis’ usually the one who’s doing the fingering.

Not that way.

God he needs to get his head out of the gutter.

“I couldn’t help myself,” Harry admits, one hand coming to rub the back of his neck, “I stared at you for a good while before I finally got the guts to come up to you. You looked so pretty sitting there, with your little ankles and your pencil in your mouth, so enthralling… art in front of art.”

Louis’ not sure what to say, so he just kind of sits there, eyes bugging out as he stares at Harry.

“I mean, like you’re not an object!” Harry rushes out, babbling.

“I just mean, there’s something about you that’s so captivating, and maybe it’s the way your eyes are like a watercolor painting of the sea, or how delicate your hands look when you draw, but I just wanted to get to know you. It’s not like I pick up random boys at art museums usually, I swear. Not that I’m trying to pick you up! Unless you want to be…God, fuck I’m sorry this is so awkward now. I can go, um, if you want,”

Wow, is all Louis can think because  _wow_.

Louis’ had his fair share of flirting before, had guys try and pick him up before, but never like this. Never had a boy, or man for the matter, tell him that he’s  _art,_ that his eyes are watercolors, that his ankles, of all things, are mesmerizing. Because usually he’s in a club or at a bar, and there’s a comment or two thrown around about how great his arse is before he finds his fifteen minute romance on the dance floor.

But this… this is something else.

“Uh,” Harry blushes, face even redder than it was before, “I um- I’ll just go now,” He says, trying to untangle his legs.

“Wait,” Louis says, grabbing Harry’s wrist and pulling him back down to the seat, “I want to be.”

“What?” Harry asks, eyebrows crinkling together.

“I want to be picked up. By you.” Louis looks Harry in the eyes, determined this time.  

He unzips his pencil case, fishing out one of his calligraphy pens and takes the cap off with his teeth. Hunched over, he begins to write his number on Harry’s skin, rich black ink staining the side of his hand.

“There,” Louis says when he’s done, drawing a little sunglasses face emojii next to his name with flourish, “Now you have my number.”

Harry’s lips quirk up, looking down at his hand before looking back up at Louis, “I have a phone you know, where you can enter contacts and things in, pretty useful.”

He takes his mobile out of his pocket, waving it around.

“It’s more fun this way you pratt.”

“Mm,” Harry smiles as he adds Louis into his contacts.

“Remember the emoji,” Louis says seriously, leaning his head down over Harry’s shoulder to get a good look at his phone.

Harry pauses, body twisted awkwardly around to face him, looking at him with those big sincere eyes of his, and Louis fights back the urge to fidget, his gaze making his body itch in the best way possible.

“You’re adorable.” Harry finally says, after what seems like minutes of silence, a tinge of awe in his voice, all slow and languid.

“Thanks,” Louis squeaks a little, whipping his head to stare at the ceiling. It’s all too much.

 His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose with the momentum. One long finger pushes them back on his face gently.

“There you go, love. Don’t want those falling.”

And Louis’ blushing  _again_ , tempted to hide his face in his hands.

He is so screwed.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm really sorry this chapter was updated so late! I was busy with classes and finals all December and lost track of time during winter break. I also struggled a bit to write smut, since i've never done it before. I promise to update more regularly from now on. Thank you so much for reading and the kudos and comments xx. They motivate me!

 

 “Louis!”

Louis looks up from his phone momentarily only to be met with a face full of pillow. He’s thrown back by the force of it, burrowed deep into the cushions of the loveseat he’s sat on.  Pushing himself up on his elbows, he grumbles as he orients himself. He looks up, rubbing his face only to see Niall peering down at him with wide blue eyes and a crooked white grin.  Louis grits his teeth, because _honestly,_ he was in the middle of a very engaging text conversation with a very sweet, very _hot_ man.

“What was that for?”

“For not paying attention and being stuck on your phone all night,” Niall pouts, gaze flickering back to the huge flat screen TV positioned against the wall briefly, “You never pass up FIFA. What gives?”

“First of all,” Louis starts, “I’ve been doing important things. On my important phone. I have a life you know.”

“Mhm,” Niall raises an eyebrow in disbelief,” A life. Sure.”

“Shut up.”

“And second of all?” Niall asks, blinking up at him innocently, round cheeks tightening as he smiles slyly before taking a huge swig of Guinness. Typical Irishman.

“Second of all,” Louis picks up the pillow and pretends to inspect it silently before swinging it straight into Niall’s face. He winks at Zayn who’s glaring at the two of them over his glasses, looking like a soft kitten in his white t-shirt and baggy black sweatpants. Louis kind of wants to pet him.

Just kind of.

 His thoughts are interrupted as Niall coughs and drops his Xbox controller, tossing the pillow across the room and spraying drops of beer everywhere. Louis cackles as Niall covers his mouth, hacking away loudly. Half his Guinness has spilled on his t-shirt, a wet, faint brown stain gathering on his chest. It’s sort of shaped like a dinosaur. Maybe a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

“If you two are done already, I’d like some help here.” Zayn comments, casually ignoring Niall’s coughing fit. His nose is scrunched, eyes glued to the screen, “Niall get your ass back in the game. We’re losing.”

“I’m busy _dying_ over here if you don’t mind,” Niall wheezes. He’s draped over his seat now, beer balanced on his stomach, twiggy legs sprawled in the air. He reaches for the bowl of tortillas on the ground next to him, placing one chip in his mouth and crunching sadly, “Does no one care about me anymore? Little old Niall not good enough for you?”

“Stop pulling a Louis,” Zayn rolls his eyes, “I can only deal with one drama queen at a time.”

“You’re lucky I’m in too good of a mood to even respond to that. I am a warm fluffy cloud, floating in the air, a ball of cotton, a warm fuzzy bunny wrapped in a big jumper. I cannot be bothered,” Louis quips.

Zayn snorts at that and sends a pillow flying across the room that lands next to his leg. Niall punches him in the arm.

“Play a round with us will you _bunny_? This is boring without you.”

Louis leans over, popping his bum out a little, grinning when Zayn rolls his eyes at him. He surveys the table carefully and leans over to grab a can of beer.

The coffee table is covered with an array of liquor, crisps, jaffa cakes, and sours. It’s Friday —their designated lads night where they either hit a pub or pig out and play video games. This week, they’ve chosen the latter. Niall has set up his (very large and very posh) living room, raided the bar, and emptied half his pantry. Louis shakes his head as he picks up the fleece Power Rangers blanket Niall’s thrown on his expensive chestnut leather couch and examines the framed vintage comic books arranged against the walls, dispersed between pictures of his family, him golfing in almost every one.

 For someone who’s grown up in a high class family, his tastes certainly don’t match.

He cracks open his own beer, a smile spreading on his face when his phone buzzes, “Can’t. Busy with important things.”

He giggles, actually fucking giggles like the smitten teenage girl he’s somehow transformed into when he sees its Harry.

 

They’ve been texting ever since their afternoon together at the museum which had been probably one of the most wonderful afternoons he’s experienced in his (albeit short) life. They had walked around the museum, room to room, as Harry explained the history behind different paintings to Louis. Truth be told, he would’ve been bored to death if it had been anyone else; he detests art history, or history in general for that matter. But being around Harry is something if not addicting, from his sweet pink lips and throaty voice. Louis could listen to him ramble for minutes on end about an artist or portrait and watch the way his eyes light up with endearment when Louis teases him about his extensive knowledge of art or tugs on one of his curls. The butterflies in his stomach still haven’t stopped fluttering and he’s sure his heart could burst out of his chest at any moment with the way its pounding.

_Stuck home by myself with my goldfish teddy. He’s so cute and small, reminds me of you Xx -H._

Louis snorts, momentarily turning red.

_Are you calling me a fish, Curly? Watch your back. I’m a full grown man._

His phone buzzes just seconds later.

_I’m well aware of that. ;) – H._

Louis swallows, a bloom of heat spreading through his chest. He pulls at the collar of his jumper, feeling imperceptibly hot suddenly.

 “Go back to your game,” He stutters out hoarsely when he feels Zayn and Niall’s gazes boring into the side of his face.

Zayn opens his mouth as if he wants to say something. Thankfully, Niall just pulls on his elbow and tugs him back so they’re both facing the screen.

He turns back to his phone, tapping out a quick reply.

_Cheeky._

_Not as cheeky as you, my dear –H._

Louis bites his lip. Feeling daring and flirtatious, he quickly types out his next message.

_Physically or emotionally?_

He blushes a little after it’s sent. Feeling slightly regretful, he locks his phone, shrinks into himself, and focuses on Zayn and Niall’s FIFA round. His phone doesn’t go off for a bit and by the time four minutes pass, Louis’ beginning to panic a little.

It’s irrational, he knows. Harry’s probably left to take a wee or check on his laundry, but he can’t help the trickle of insecurity that’s stuck in the back of his mind.  Maybe he was a little too forward. Maybe he’s scared Harry off.

Just as he’s about to curl up into a ball and suffocate himself with Niall’s Power Rangers blanket, his phone buzzes on the table.

He holds his breath as he reads the message.

_Both –H._

 

****

 

 

Harry insists on picking him up on their first date.

It’s 5:43 PM and Louis is pacing around the jungle that is his bedroom, half buried in his closet throwing shirts and trousers on the ground. He hates himself, he really does, because Harry’s supposed to be here in less than twenty minutes and he has, as usual, saved getting ready for the last minute. His procrastination habit has gotten bad lately, and it’s starting to bite him in the arse.

“Lou?” Niall knocks on the door, muffled by whatever he’s got in his mouth, “You almost ready?”

Louis rips himself away from his closet, stopping himself from pulling his own hair when he remembers he just did his fringe. He clenches his fists instead and marches to the door, flinging it open with as much force as possible.

“Niall. I am _actually_ screaming internally , I’m pretty sure I’m about to cough up my own fucking large intestine at any moment, and I’m still dressed in your goddamn Prince shirt and a pair of neon yellow pants. Do I _look_ ready to you?!”

Niall puts his arms up in surrender, chewing on a mouthful of biscuit. His cheeks puff out like a hamster and if Louis weren’t so stressed he’d find it endearing, but now, it’s just really irritating.

“Alright, alright I was just checking. I do like those pants though. Reminds me of highlighters. Could I borrow them sometime?”

“Borrow my underwear? Really Niall? You know what- I- nevermind. You’re hopeless! Hopeless!” Louis groans throwing his arms in the air as dramatically as possible before ripping back into his closet and tossing a handful of socks onto his bed for effect. So he’s a bit of a drama queen when he’s stressed, let him live.

“Lou,” Niall starts, stepping into the room and crossing his arms as he watches Louis jump around like a maniac, “Boobear, settle down.”

“Don’t,” Louis whips around, eyes narrowing at the mention of his nickname, “play with me right now Niall.”

Niall rolls his eyes, grabs Louis, and pushes him down on the bed, straddling him. Louis opens his mouth to scream but Niall shoves his biscuit between his lips before he can make a sound.

“That’s the last one. Eat it, sit still, and be grateful.”

Louis glares at Niall, crossing his arms stubbornly as he watches him retreat into his closet.  He contemplates jumping on Niall’s back and pulling on his hair just to get back at him for manhandling him, but he’s running out of time and Niall seems to be trying to help. Still, he pointedly keeps the biscuit between his mouth, refusing to chew and give Niall any satisfaction. It’s hard because it’s a _good_ biscuit, one of those fancy European ones that come in a Holiday tin.

“If you’re not gonna eat that, you might as well give it back.” Niall says, raising an eyebrow when he comes back with a pair of black skinny jeans, a white collared shirt, one of his nicer marbled forest green jumpers, and some braces with brown leather detailing.

“No,” Louis says, stuffing the rest of the biscuit into his mouth pointedly before sitting up and examining Niall’s clothing choices.

“You’re a child. Don’t know how Zayn lives with you half the time,” Niall sighs as he pats Louis’ head.

“Bit… much innit?” Louis asks as he picks up the braces, “I haven’t worn these in forever.”

“Got any better ideas?” Niall asks, “You’ll look like a proper twink. Isn’t that what this Henry guy is into hm?”

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis corrects him, “and… I’d ask you how you even know that term, but really I don’t want to know.”

“Hey, I’m best friends with two non-straight guys. I pick up on the slang.” Niall says and throws the jeans at Louis.

Louis picks them up, along with the rest of the clothes Niall had picked out for him and holds them out. They aren’t half bad really, the jumper will match Harry’s eyes and the jeans are one of the tightest pairs he owns which’ll make his arse look nice and round (not that it isn’t already nice and round). The braces could come in use for later too, Louis thinks devishly. Could do some tying up. Or _Harry_ could do some tying up. As long as one of them is tied up, really.

He goes to his dresser and grabs a pair of dark blue panties from his stash that he keeps for when he wears jeggings to avoid underwear lines (which is almost every other day), ignores Niall’s wolf whistle as he pulls off his boxers, and tosses them at Niall’s face. Shimmying, he gets the jeans over his arse with some difficulty, buttons the shirt up, and pulls the jumper over his head. He fixes the collar so it peeks out nice and crisp over his pullover before he straps the braces on.

“Which shoes?” He asks, scanning his shoe rack.

“The brogues,” Niall says and Louis nods, going to step into a pair of glossy maroon brogues.

“You know, you aren’t too bad at this. Decent, really,” Louis says as he laces up his shoes and goes to grab his coat. Niall trails after him, closing the door behind them.

“Aw, shucks. Thanks Tommo,” He says, grabbing Louis’ from behind and burying his face into his hair. Louis decides to allow it this time, _only_ because Niall helped him. At least that’s what he tells himself.

When they make it to the living room, Louis nearly sends Niall to the floor as he jerks his elbow back in shock into his stomach. Harry’s sitting on the couch, hands folded together politely while Zayn sits across from him, one eyebrow raised, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“Harry!” He squeaks as Niall groans, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Lou,” Harry grins suddenly, standing up from his seat and running a hand through his curls.

He makes it across the room in two quick strides and picks Louis up by the waist a bit, lifting him off the ground briefly before hugging him into his chest. Louis has to stop himself from nuzzling his face into Harry’s shoulder and just passing out right there. He smells so good, like cologne and fabric softener and his coat is so soft. Harry’s hands settle on the small of his back, just above the curve of his arse, fingers pressing into his hips. Louis keens a bit, head dizzy as Harry pulls him back to press his mouth next to his ear.

“Missed you,” He says voice low and sweet.

“Missed you too,” Louis replies, staring up at Harry like he can’t believe he’s real. Harry stares back at him, thumbs rubbing soft circles into Louis’ stomach.

“Got you something,” Harry smiles, walking back to where he was sitting to retrieve a bouquet of yellow and red heirloom roses.

“Bit of an old fashioned man myself. Can’t be a proper first date without flowers,” Harry blushes as he presses the flowers into Louis’ hands.

“Harry, thank you.” He whispers, and stands on his tip toes to give Harry a kiss on the cheek.

Harry grins goofily, opening his mouth to speak before he’s cut off.

“Ahem,” Zayn interrupts the two from across the room, effectively ruining the moment, “You going to introduce Harry to Niall, Louis?”

It takes all the patience he can muster for Louis to resist the urge to take off his shoe and throw it at Zayn’s face. He’s been in a throwing mood recently.

“Right,” Louis sighs, pulling away from Harry to turn to Niall who’s still rubbing his stomach where Louis had elbowed him earlier.

“Niall, this is Harry. Harry, Niall.” He says, motioning Harry to the blonde.

“Oh how rude of me! Nice to meet you Niall,” Harry stands back and grabs Niall’s hand firmly as he shakes it, smiling easily, “Are you quite alright? I know Louis did a bit of a number to your gut.”

“I’m fine, _thank you for asking_ ,” Niall says and looks straight at Louis, “You got yourself a polite one here.”

“I _know,_ ” Louis says and he grabs Harry’s arm desperate to curl himself back into his warmth. Harry laughs a bit at his eagerness and wraps an arm around his waist.

“Derby fan?” Harry asks, motioning to the jersey’s Niall got on.

“Yes sir,” Niall grins, bouncing on his toes a little.

“Bit of a Man U fan myself,” Harry admits and Louis could kiss him right there. Sexy, kind, and he has good taste in football. He’s going to have to him reward him for that later.

“Oh fook off,” Niall laughs, “You’re just like the rest of ‘em,” motioning toward Louis and Zayn.

“Not my fault you have shit taste,” Louis mumbles into Harry’s arm. Normally he’d be into talking footie, but right now he just _really_ wants to be on his way to his date with Harry. Badly.

“So,” Zayn interrupts again, voice harsh, as he steps next to Niall to look at Harry, “what is it you said you did again?”

Louis groans, because he knows that tone of voice that Zayn’s got on right now. It’s his protective voice, and while Louis appreciates how much his best friend cares about him, it’s downright irritating right now.  He really doesn’t need Zayn treating him like he’s his teenage daughter.

That’s the last thing he needs quite frankly.

However, Harry doesn’t seem to be bothered. He smiles instead, just as kind as ever as he replies, “I work in sales, nothing too fancy. Some auctioneering here and there, but nothing formal. More of a hobby, really.”

“You know a lot about art for a businessman,” Zayn eyes him suspiciously.

“Mm, minored in art back in school. A bit of a painter myself. Always loved it.”

“Just how old are you?” Zayn asks accusingly, circling Louis and Harry slowly.

“Twenty five,” Harry answers.

“That’s pretty young for someone with an established career.”

“Dropped out of Uni,” Harry shrugs.

“Dro-“ Zayn begins, but Louis quickly cuts him off, impatient and irritated with how his friend is behaving.

“Are we playing twenty questions now? How many grapes can you fit up your arse, Zayn? Hm?”

Zayn focuses his death glare on Louis and Louis just rolls his eyes, tugging on Harry’s arm.

“We should get going. Gonna miss our reservation.”

“Bu-“

“Late.” Louis repeats harder, staring down at Zayn. He holds his gaze until Zayn deflates a little and shakes his head with one last look that says _we’re talking about this when you get back_.

Harry coughs awkwardly, breaking the silence.

“Was nice meeting you, Zayn and Niall. We should grab a pint sometime yeah?”

“Definitely!” Niall smiles, jovial as ever, “You two kids have fun. I’ll put those in some water,” He grabs the bouquet from Louis’ arms and heads towards the kitchen, “C’mon Z. We’re ordering in tonight. Could go for a curry myself.”

Niall grips Zayn’s arm and drags him to the couch before he can say anything rude to Harry.

Louis has never been more thankful for him.

“Sorry bout that,” Louis huffs when they finally make it out the door. It’s dark and cold outside and he can see his breaths come out in short puffs. “Zayn’s a bit of a pain in the arse sometimes. I’ll make sure he behaves next time.”

“S’fine. He’s protective. I would be too if I were him,” Harry says as he guides Louis gently to the curb where his Ferrari’s parked. 

Louis raises his eyebrows a bit as Harry opens the door for him, almost afraid to sit on the expensive leather interior. He could tell Harry was rich but not _this_ rich.

“Must be some impressive sales,” Louis breathes as Harry ushers him into the passenger seat.

“You could say that,” Harry laughs, locking the doors to the car and starting up the engine, “Fancy listening to anything in particular?” He asks, fingers going to fiddle with the radio.

Louis stares at them, noticing once again the multitude of rings on Harry’s fingers. They’re all different today, save for the turquoise one he noticed him wearing last time. They don’t look like the fashion rings you can get at Topman either, they’re real, expensive jewels and gold. There are thousands of pounds dripping off Harry’s fingers. Louis swallows, the reality of the situation finally hitting him. He’s so out of place here, a poor art student next to Harry, an accomplished, wealthy businessman.

“Louis? Lou? You alright?” Harry asks from next to him, giving up on the radio to touch Louis’ hand.

Louis turns toward him, trying to school his expression into something neutral, “M’fine.”

Harry frowns, eyebrows crinkling with worry, “Sweetheart, you can tell me anything you know. I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I care about you. Quite a lot actually. ”

Louis bites his lip, hating himself for being so insecure, “It’s just…why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you doing this? Taking me out, buying me flowers, bringing me to dinner? You’ve got your shit in order and I’m an unemployed art student with little to nothing to my name,” Louis blurts out, wringing his hands nervously, “I don’t get it, that’s all.”

Harry’s silent for a while, staring straight ahead and Louis winces. Not ten minutes in, and he’s pretty sure he’s already ruined the date.

“Love, you can’t really think I care about that,” Harry finally says, turning to look at Louis, “I asked you out for the same reasons anyone asks someone they’re infatuated out. You’re gorgeous, funny, smart, and we get along together so well. I could care less about how much money you have or what you do for a living. It might be too soon for me to say this, but I really think we could be something great together.”

“Oh,” Is all Louis can say, mouth suddenly dry. _Oh._ “I think so too. That we could be something great together,” Louis adds stumbling over his words. He hooks his thumb over the back of Harry’s hand feeling his skin underneath the pads of his fingers. In the darkness of the car he can see Harry’s pink mouth curve up softly, his breath heavy and steady.

“Yeah?” Harry asks.

“Yeah.”

 

****

 

 

The restaurant Harry takes him to is posh, but not intimidatingly so which makes Louis relieved. It’s a classy little Italian place tucked in the heart of London. The ambience is charming, and they get a table next to window where they can see the city lit with streetlamps and soft light illuminating from window panes in the distance. There’s a candle on the table, burning steadily and bright on snowflake white tablecloth, making Louis feel like he’s in a scene from _Lady and the Tramp_ and be briefly thinks about asking Harry to share a plate of spaghetti together before he wrinkles his nose and realizes just how _cheesy_ (and potentially messy)that would be.

Half an hour into their meal and a couple of Bruschettas later, they’re tucking into their pastas, the conversation flowing easily. Louis’ in the middle of relaying a (very thrilling) story of the time he and Niall set up a paint bomb trap in the flat which resulted in Zayn kicking Louis out for approximately three hours before begging him to come back when Harry suddenly reaches over, large hand coming to rest on the side of his face.

“Got something there,” He says, smiling as he swipes his thumb over the corner of Louis’ mouth and it’s so cliché he swears his life has turned into a chick flick. But Harry’s palm is heavy on his cheek and it makes Louis shiver so he lets it slip. He grips his thighs with damp palms, trousers suddenly a little tighter as Harry presses feather light touches into his cheek, green eyes dark and intense.

Harry notices him squirm, the corner of his mouth raised devishly, before moving and pressing his thumb on Louis’ lower lip until it slips in his mouth, resting on the velvety wet warmth of Louis’ tongue. Louis digs his nails into his leg, the taste of tomato sauce and Harry’s skin blooming in his mouth. He’s about to close his lips around Harry’s finger, but Harry takes his hand away from his face and picks up his fork instead.

“Didn’t want to let that go to waste,” He shrugs and makes a show of slipping his fork between his mouth, licking his plush red lips until they’re damp and wet. Louis’ hands itch to palm himself, dick throbbing against the thin fabric of his panties. He kind of wants to kill Harry for being such a tease.

He takes a sip of ice water, hoping it’ll clear his mind a little more but Harry just keeps staring at him, eyebrows raised challengingly.

And _oh._ Two can play at that game.

If it’s a challenge he wants, it’s a challenge he’ll get.

He slips his shoe off his foot, socked foot coming to rest on the top of Harry’s own oxfords.

“Your pasta good?” Harry asks, pointedly ignoring Louis’ touch.

“Mm,” Louis nods. He moves his foot up Harry’s, nudging aside the leg of Harry’s trousers until he’s got his toes pressed against Harry’s bare ankle, “Delicious.”

“Good. This is one of my favorite spots to come to, I’m glad you like it,” He says.

Louis curls his toes against the protruding bone of Harry’s ankle, dragging his foot against the skin there. Harry seems largely unaffected, reaching for the dessert menu in the center of the table instead and Louis does his best to seem just as disinterested, even though he _really_ wants to get back at Harry. He’s always been competitive.

“ I’ve been wanting to try the Tiramisu here,” Harry continues, glancing down at the menu, “You thinking about anything in particular for dessert?”

“Dunno,” Louis says coyly, making sure to glance at Harry through his eyelashes as coquettishly as possible. He knows it’s a bit ridiculous, but his last boyfriend loved how long his lashes were and he plans to use every last trick in the book to get Harry just as hard and uncomfortably hot as he made him.

“How about the cheesecake? Or we could split something?”

Louis leans over, snatching the menu from Harry and runs his foot up the length of his entire leg, stopping right on the inside of his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch.

“Let me have a look,” He says nonchalantly and pretends to read the menu. He peeks at Harry briefly, noticing him dart his tongue out to wet his mouth slightly as Louis presses his heel against his thigh.

Harry catches his gaze and they stare each other down from across the table and it’s so intense Louis wants to look away. But if he’s anything, he’s no quitter, so he holds his stare and decides to go in all the way. He moves his foot up, letting it linger on his thigh before brushing it against Harry’s crotch, keeping his face impassive as possible as he feels Harry’s half hard cock twitch underneath his touch. He drags his toes up and down Harry’s cock, the bottom of his foot resting flat against his bulge.

Harry’s breath hitches, plush pink lips falling open, a red blush blooming on his chest that crawls up his neck and blotches his cheeks. He closes his eyes, and Louis smirks, taking the opportunity to give him one last stroke before taking his foot away and looking back down at the menu.

“You…I…“ Harry blurts out, eyes snapping wide open and Louis just looks at him as innocently as possible, blinking twice as he slips his foot back in his shoe.

“How about that Tiramisu?”

 

****

 

The second they’ve left the restaurant Harry grabs Louis by the waist and walks them behind a corner, hidden from the main street. His grip is tight, fingers firmly pressed into his side. As soon as they’re out of sight, Harry pushes him into the wall roughly, staring down at him with dark eyes. Louis pants, trying his best not to kneel right in front of Harry and take his dick down his throat because he’s just so damn _hot_ and _dominant_ it hurts.

“You’re a bloody tease,” Harry groans, caging Louis into the wall. He pushes his hips into Louis’, resting his forearms above his head. His is weight heavy and solid and his erection is hard and thick, pressed underneath his trousers.

“Got a little problem there?” Louis smirks, quirking one eyebrow up.

“Definitely not little,” Harry breathes and tips his forehead down to rest it against Louis’ so that all he can see is Harry, smell Harry’s cologne and feel his warm breath on his face.

“Bit cocky aren’t you?” Louis teases and Harry groans, grabbing Louis’ wrist to place his hand against his crotch.

“That feel little to you baby?”

“It’s decent,” Louis lies, because _fuck_ Harry is huge underneath his fingers, probably the biggest he’s ever had, rock hard and firm underneath his small palm.  He won’t let that get to Harry’s head though, so he takes his hand back and composes himself, crossing his arms, “Could be bigger though.”

Harry drops his face into his shoulder, chuckling.

“So mean,” He pouts into Louis’ neck and Louis bites back a moan, “you hurt my feelings.”

 Louis tries his best to keep his eyes from rolling into the back of his head as he feels Harry’s wet mouth suck at his skin, teeth nipping there just hard enough not to leave a mark.

“You deserve it,” Louis stutters out as Harry pulls back and touches his neck, long fingers coming to stroke at Louis’ adam’s apple.

“Look up at me again,” Harry demands, “like you did during dinner, look up at me underneath those beautiful long lashes of yours. Wanna see your big blue eyes, baby.”

“You got some kind of weird kink I need to know about?” Louis says, but he obliges anyways, eyes sparkling as he glances up at Harry.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, “so fucking gorgeous, Lou. Never seen eyes like that before.”

His thumb comes up, swiping at the tender area just underneath his lower lashes before he glides it down Louis’ chest, stopping to softly palm him through his clothes.

Louis’ knees buckle underneath him and Harry just pushes him up harder against the wall to keep him from falling as he continues to squeeze his cock.

“Want you so bad baby, wanted you all night. Come home with me.”

Louis squirms, sucking in little breaths of air as he feels Harry’s hand against him. He’s so hard now, and he can feel an obscene wet patch forming in the front of his pants, precum soaking through the thin fabric of his panties.

“Fuck,” Louis says, fringe falling in front of his eyes as Harry pushes harder into his dick, “Fuck, okay. You can have me. Get the damn car.”

 

 

****

 

 

The car ride back is nothing short of torturous and they trip over each other as they run frantically up to Harry’s flat.

“Hurry up,” Louis grits as Harry fumbles with the key to the door, the sound of metal clanging together cutting against his heavy breaths. When he finally gets the door open, Louis shoves in front of him, pulling him in the flat by the collar and kicking the door closed with his foot. His grip is tight on Harry’s shirt and he pushes his head down until their lips are just a centimeter apart.

“Take me to your room,” Is all Louis says, whispering against Harry’s wet lips, before Harry’s practically picking him up, walking to his bedroom in record time in just a few long legged strides. He pushes the door closed and places Louis on the bed. Louis sheds his jumper, throwing it on the floor before falling back into Harry’s pillows.

Louis lifts himself up by his forearms, shivering as Harry stands at the foot of the bed. It’s dark in the room, just a bit of light streaming through the blinds of the windows, hitting the side of Harry’s face. He’s towering over him now, strong jaw line twitching, dark pupils blown wide, cock tenting the front of his skinny jeans.

“God,” Harry says, voice trembling as his eyes drift down to Louis’ crotch, where a small wet patch has formed, “So wet, baby. Wet just for me.”

“Fuck me already,” Louis growls, getting impatient and he surges up to pull Harry down to the bed. He falls on top of him, bracing his weight with the heels of his palms as he bends down to catch Louis’ bottom lip between his teeth and pulling at the skin.

“C’mon,” Louis whines and wraps his arms around Harry’s neck, “C’mon fuck me.”

But Harry just slips his head out from under Louis’ grip and slides down his body, kissing down to his neck to the dip between his collarbones. “Wanna make you feel good, sweetheart. Make you feel as good as you make me feel. Want all of you.”

Louis sinks his nails into Harry’s sheet, writhing because he’s so fucking hard and it _hurts_ but Harry’s just hovering over him, licking between his clavicles, the wet drag of his mouth hot and delicious against his skin.

“What if I just left a mark here?” Harry pants as he pulls back and runs a finger along one of Louis’ prominent collarbones, “So pretty. Make everyone know you’re mine hm? You can wear one of my shirts after, make sure it hangs low on your chest so everyone knows. They’ll know how naughty you are.”

“Harry,” Louis whines. Harry takes that as permission and he sinks his teeth into him, biting down hard enough so there’s a soft pleasant sting that sends Louis into overdrive. He groans, trying to grind up into Harry’s thigh.

“Be patient baby,” Harry shushes him, whisper warm and ticklish against his skin, and presses Louis’ sharp jutted hips down into the bed to get him to stop squirming as he continues to work on the love bite on his clavicle.

When he’s done, he pulls back, green eyes glittering in the dark as he observes the number he’s done on Louis, sweeping one large hand across his clavicles and shoulders, the pads of his fingers brushing against Louis’ neck.

“Perfect,” Harry says and makes his way back down his body, snapping his braces before slowly unbuttoning each button on his shirt, kissing each new exposed patch of skin.

“Up, darling,” Harry says as he moves to help Louis sit up and take off his shirt and suspenders, dropping a kiss to his shoulder. He takes off his own button up, a pearly silk blouse, and slips it on Louis instead, buttoning up only one or two buttons, “Beautiful.”

Seconds later, they’re both shucking off their trousers. Louis shivers when he feels the cool air against his hard and straining cock. He’s so hard it’s painful and the way the cotton of his underwear is soaked and how Harry’s cool silk shirt rubs against his hot skin doesn’t help. Harry turns around, opening up a couple drawers to get condoms and lube. Louis watches Harry from where he’s laid down on the bed, admiring his broad toned shoulders, muscles flexing under his skin as he moves. He’s beautiful, hard and muscular but pale and milky smooth at the same time, precious little beauty marks scattered around his chest and hips, his dark curls falling in front of his eyes.

“Fuck, are those panties?” Harry asks when he turns around, tossing the supplies on the bed, “Jesus Christ Louis.”

He looks so small like this, drowning in Harry’s shirt, pretty cock covered in skimpy midnight blue fabric, dark against his tan skin. Harry groans, covering Louis’ thick thighs with his hands as he bends down to mouth at the wet thin cotton pressed against Louis’ dick.

“Shit,” Louis says and grabs a handful of Harry’s curls, tugging a bit. Harry moans against him at the feeling of Louis pulling at his hair, the pain in his scalp making his toes curl and his dick twitch in pleasure.

 “You like that?” Louis asks and tugs harder when he feels Harry nod against his cock.

Harry mouths lazily at Louis’ clothed cock, before he pulls away the flimsy fabric and sucks the head of it into his mouth, the bitter salty taste of pre-come spilling onto his tongue.

Louis’ squirming above him now, hips twitching, desperate to buck up into the warm heat of Harry’s mouth. His damp palms grasp at Harry’s curls absently, mind blanked out with pleasure.

And then Harry’s mouth is off him, leaving him gasping for air.

“Harry, _Harry please. Please, Harry touch me,”_ Louis begs as Harry moves to suck and nip at the skin at the base of his cock.

“Baby, I got you,” Harry quiets him and Louis gasps, writhing in Harry’s oversized shirt when he hears the click of a bottle of lube being opened and closed.

“C’mon up,” Harry says as he sits up against the headboard, “On your knees and hands. Want myself around you.”

Louis struggles to sit up, knees buckling underneath him as his heavy cock swings a bit as he gets in position between Harry’s legs. Harry’s long fingers are wet and slick with lube, tracing against his rim.

“One okay?” Harry asks, voice gravely and Louis nods desperately. He closes his eyes, biting hard down on his lip as Harry slips one long finger in easily.

“God, you have such a nice bum, Lou. So beautiful, can’t wait to get inside you,” He says as he slips another finger into him.

Louis’s eyes fly open this time, gooseflesh prickling his arms when he feels cool metal pressed against his rim as Harry crooks two fingers into him. He feels Harry press in deeper, his hole stretching a bit against his rings before Harry pulls back out, leaving him empty.

“Gonna put a third in,” Harry says and presses three fingers back into Louis.

The burn of his fingers in him is so good, his hole stretching wide around Harry’s fingers.

“Fuck, fuck, _please_. Want you in me,” Louis whines and presses his head against the bed so his back and bum are curved upwards in the air. His cock is still hard and leaking between his legs, and he feels like he could explode any second. It’s so much, his body is so sensitive.

Louis just wants to grab his dick and wank himself off, but Harry’s pushed his fingers in until he’s knuckles deep. Louis gasps, feeling his cold rings push deeper inside him, the grooves and edges of each ring pressed inside him, opening him up even more. His thighs tremble and he grabs the sheets as hard as he can to keep from falling down, biting his arm to stop himself from screaming.

“ _Harry_ ,” Louis cries.

“Okay, okay. Sit back on my lap baby,” Harry says and Louis slumps into the bed, legs giving out under him in exhaustion. He feels fluid all over, warm and light, like he’s floating.

It’s quiet, only the sound of a foil packet being opened, before Harry pulls him back up, letting him flop into his chest like a ragdoll.

“I have you baby, gonna get inside you now,” Harry whispers and Louis nods lazily, letting Harry lift his thighs up and seat him on the tip of his cock.

He sinks down slowly, whimpering as Harry drags the wet head of his cock between Louis’ cheeks before he presses inside. He’s big, but Louis’ stretched out and wet and he slips in with little resistance.

“C’mon, I got you,” Harry breathes into Louis’ skin and holds his thighs, pushing him down until he’s all the way in. It burns and Louis hides his face in Harry’s chest, feeling overwhelmed at how intimate it is. Harry pants in Louis’ neck, hands settled on Louis’ hips.

“Look at me,” Harry says, and tilts Louis’ face down so their foreheads are pressed together, “Wanna see your eyes while we fuck.”

Louis falls apart above him. He’s exquisite. Harry’s pearlescent shirt falling off his shoulder, one pink nipple exposed, bite marks littered on his clavicles. Harry groans, lifts Louis up by his narrow waist and drops him back down on his cock, loving the way his long lashes fall against his razor sharp cheekbones, the way his feathery hair moves against the curve of his forehead, how his little red mouth falls open as he begs for him to take him.

“C’mon, ride me honey. You’re almost there.”

Louis nods and places his hands on Harry’s shoulders, gathering all his strength to ride him into the bed. Harry’s shirt drags against his sore nipples, every part of his body oversensitive, feeling like it’s on fire. He shudders when Harry’s dick hits his prostate, white spots floating in his vision. His cock is red and leaking against his stomach and he’s so, so close.

“Harry…need you,” Louis cries as he rides him as hard as he can.

Harry grabs his waist and pushes him into the bed, changing their position so he’s hovered over him now. He fucks into him hard as he can, sweat dripping down his temple as he grips Louis’ wrists to keep him from touching himself.

“Touch me, touch me,” Louis chants.

Harry gives into him and finally grabs Louis’ dick, pumping him a couple times before Louis cries out desperately, pretty pink mouth falling open, eyes scrunched together, fringe wet against his forehead, coming hard into his hand with a silent scream.

“Fuck, fuck, so good for me, so pretty when you come,” Harry chants, balls slapping against Louis’ ass, pounding into him a couple more times, balls tightening, until he stills against Louis’ thighs. He shouts as he comes into the condom, slumping down on top of Louis when he’s done, soft inside him.

They stare at each other in the dark for a while, Harry still inside him as he brushes his thumb against Louis’ cheek. Louis smiles at him, exhausted and sated before he falls asleep in Harry’s strong arms, bones tired and eyes heavy.

 

****

 

Louis groans, eyes flitting open as he shivers and pulls the sheet closer to him, wrapping himself in a cocoon. He settles in, closing his eyes for a few seconds. It’s colder than he remembered and he tucks his feet into the comforter before he realizes something is off.

He props himself up with one elbow, rubbing his eyes and glancing at the alarm clock next to the bed. It reads 4:35 AM. It’s too early for him to be awake now.

He lies back in bed, searching for some warmth before he realizes why he’s so cold.

Harry’s not in bed with him.

Harry’s gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The surge of random kudos inspired me to update after many many months of me leaving this hanging (please kudos!! those random little pushes of that button mean the world to me). I know I promised to update regularly but my schedule + lack of motivation got to me until I realized that this story was getting traction. Thank you all! Means a lot to me. This chapter's unbeta'd so forgive me for any mistakes. Also I use the world "Fuck" and all its variations alot. I apologize.

 

“Harry?” Louis whispers.

He sits up, throwing the covers off himself. The room is cold, a shock of icy air hitting his feverishly hot skin. Louis shivers as hops off the bed, too aware of his naked lower half and the dull pain in his bum. He winces as he fumbles in the dark of the room for something to cover up with, blindly feeling his way until his feet brush against some fabric left on the rug. It’s a pair of Harry’s boxer briefs. He quickly pulls them on, the waistband loose on his smaller figure.

“Harry?” Louis asks again, louder this time. His voice is hoarse and dry from how loud he was last night. He remembers everything, the image of himself wanton and vulnerable, draped over Harry’s chest, their damp skin pressed against each other, Harry’s cock deep inside him, cool silk sliding against his shoulder blades, permanently burned in his eyes.

Louis’s cheeks redden at the memory of Harry’s blouse draped off his narrow shoulders. He still has it on, the fabric cold and smooth against the sensitive skin of his chest, long enough to cover his thighs.

He slips out the door and into the hall, toes curling into the sleek hardwood floor. Its dark here too, shades of muted blue coloring the flat from the ghostly pale light of the moon beaming through the windows. In the faint light he can make out paintings hung on the walls scattered between a couple pictures of two adorably chubby black and white cats and Harry’s family.

Louis smiles briefly at the pictures. He wants to look at them longer, coo over the particularly precious portrait of Harry holding one of the cats in his arms like a cradle, looking just as soft as the feline in a big dark green jumper and a baseball cap pulled over his curls. He almost stands there, just admiring the photos before he remembers Harry’s missing and he needs to find him.

Right.

Louis makes his way further down the hall until he reaches the living space. It’s empty but homey, an overstuffed couch and several ottomans placed around the room. The rest of the house seems to be empty as well, no sight or indication of Harry at all.

 _What the fuck?_ Is all Louis can think, because _what the fuck? Where did Harry go?_

 _Call him_. That’s what he needs to do. He needs to call him. Maybe he went out for something, maybe he wanted a late night…or early morning snack.

But the logical part of him knows that can’t be it. Its 4 AM, who on earth would go out for something this early?

Louis paces across the room, feet dragging across the freezing hardwood floor. A small bubble of panic rises in his chest. _What if something happened to Harry? Why would he leave Louis all alone in his flat?_

_What if he was kidnapped?_

He stops in front of the kitchen and inhales, trying to shake himself out of it before his brain escalates out of control. After a brief second of clearing his head, he figures he has three options:

A. Scream  
B. Scream and call the police  
C. Get a grip and call Harry on his cell

  
He’s just about to reach for Harry’s home phone to do something irrational when the door opens, a gust of frosty air blowing into the apartment.

“Holy shit!” Louis screams, nearly toppling over as he stumbles back into the counter. He squints in the dark, heart racing, as he makes out a tall black silhouette standing at the opening of the door. He scrambles to sit up, heart thumping at rabbit pace. Louis runs his fingers across the marble counter-top, hoping to feel something sharp that can be used for self-defense. He finds a fork and quickly grabs it as stealthily as he can. It’ll have to do for now.

The figure takes a step into the apartment. The floor creaks.

Louis holds his breath, raising his arm so he’s ready to maim the offender if he tries anything. He figures he’s already at a disadvantage because of his size, but he’ll play dirty if need be. He’s going for the balls.

“D-Don’t come any closer. I’ve got a fork and I’m not afraid to use it.”

The light flickers on and Louis feels himself deflate, the beat of his heart slowing down when he sees who it is. Relief washes over him. He drops his arm, letting the fork fall from his fingers back on the table. Harry's back home and there isn't an intruder trying to murder him tonight. It’s just Harry.

Harry, who had been missing from his own apartment up until now at 4 AM in the morning. Harry, who’s currently dressed in an all-black ensemble with a wool beanie pulled over his windblown curls, cheeks pinked, and black pupils blown, a maniacal gleam in his eyes.

“Lou? Are you okay?” Harry says as he slams the door behind him, “Did you get hurt? I’m sorry for surprising you like that.”

“I’m fine,” Louis groans as his heart rate slows back down to normal. Harry reaches a hand out and he grabs it.

“You sure? You seemed ready to attack with my silverware for a moment there.”

“Yes. I’m sure,” Louis huffs and lets go of his hand, ignoring Harry’s quip about the fork in favor of rubbing his sore tailbone, before he remembers what exactly is going on. His head snaps up and he glares at Harry, who looks slightly out of breath, milky pale face now a faint red, “Where the fuck were you anyway? It’s bloody 4 in the morning.”

Harry hesitates a bit, back tensing up before something flickers in his eyes.

“Out for a run,” Harry says smoothly, leaning over so he’s crowding Louis into the wall, “I’m a morning person.”

Louis can tell he’s lying, or at least not being completely truthful.

“A run?” Louis asks skeptically, “at this time?”

“Just did four miles,” Harry nods and pushes his hips into Louis’ stomach. He’s hard underneath his joggers, erection stiff and pressed against Louis’ belly, “Like I said- I’m a morning person.”

Louis’ mind short circuits, because _fuck_ Harry is everywhere, and he smells so good even after his run- the tangy scent of sweat and traces of cologne and powdery deodorant potent on his skin. Louis sighs and presses his nose into Harry’s chest.

“M’ gonna fuck you again,” Harry says into Louis’ shoulder, voice throaty, “that okay baby?”

“Yes,” Louis groans and curls his fists into Harry’s cotton shirt, “ _please_.”

That’s all Harry needs before he’s picking Louis up bridal style and rushing back into his bedroom- Louis’ suspicions and the entire missing Harry situation forgotten.

 

****

 

 

It’s dark inside the club, loud music thumping in his ears, the smell of sweat, alcohol, and smoke saturated and hanging heavy in the air. There are bodies everywhere, people gyrating against one another, incandescent beams of colored light flashing throughout the room. Despite the crowdedness of the club, it’s still freezing inside, air conditioning on full blast. Shivering, Louis burrows further into his jean jacket. He places one cold hand on his abdomen, conscious of his outfit- an Adidas crop top and the skinniest pair of jeans he could find in his wardrobe. He’d left his fringe alone, fingers nervously brushing over the feathery brown hair swept over his forehead as he checks his phone. Harry said he’d meet him here.

“Get off your phone and dance with me,” an unfamiliar voice says from behind him, one hand coming to rest on his bare belly. Louis jumps as he turns around, startled by the sudden contact, falling straight into someone’s chest.

“Careful there. Had too much to drink?” the stranger gently stabilizes him.

“Not enough actually,” Louis says as he pushes himself away from the guy, crossing his arms and tilting his chin up to survey the man.

He’s good looking- really good looking, tall, with light brown hair styled up in a wispy quiff, a strong jawline, and by the hint of the cocky smirk curled on his mouth- he probably knows it too. He grins, white teeth shining in the soft, violet light of the club, and wraps his arm around Louis’ waist, leather jacket cold against his bare back, the faint scent of cigarettes and cologne lingering on his skin. He smells like something sharp and dangerous. Normally, Louis would like this, would nuzzle his face into the scent of something intoxicating and let a fit bloke take him to the back and push him down on his knees. But right now he’s got Harry, and he’s really not in the mood.

“We should change that then. Let me buy you a drink.”

“Actually,” Louis says, removing his arm from around him. He can feel himself getting more and more annoyed, “I’m waiting for someone.”

“Aw,” the stranger pouts, lips plump and red, “are you taken?”

“Something like that,” Louis nods and steps a foot away from the man, “we haven’t discussed it yet.”

“So what I’m getting from this is that it’s not exclusive, and a guy like me might still have a chance?” Stranger asks, lips furling up into two distinct dimples that remind Louis all too much of Harry. Harry who should’ve been here about ten minutes ago.

“I don’t even know your name,” Louis points out, furiously opening his iMessage app for what has to be the fiftieth time. He’s about to march up to the bar and order himself a margarita ( _God knows he needs some alcohol_ ) before he shoots Harry another passive aggressive text when he’s suddenly being lifted up a good foot off the ground.

“Hi,” Harry says lowly and bites the shell of his ear, tracing his lips along its smooth edge before he sinks his teeth into his earlobe and drags his lips to the side of Louis’ neck and Louis sighs because _goddammit_ he’s supposed to be mad at Harry, but his mouth his heaven and Louis just kind of wants to slip into his arms and stay there forever.

“You’re like, three hours late,” Louis says, no bite in his voice. He’s still a bit dazed with Harry’s lips now mouthing against his Adam’s apple, teeth grazing over his skin.

“I know babe, I’m so sorry. Got caught up with work, and I wanted you to meet one of my colleagues,” Harry replies and presses one last kiss to the sharp edge of Louis’ jaw, “And I see you’ve acquainted yourself with him already. Aiden,” Harry nods at the stranger who’s now smirking at the pair.

“So this is Louis,” Aiden laughs, “man, I knew we had similar taste but this takes the cake. You’re lucky I didn’t snatch him up myself- five more minutes and he would’ve forgotten your name.”

Harry chuckles and smacks Aiden up the head, “Oh come off it you fucker. Louis has standards.”

“Yes, and Louis is right here and isn’t an object for you to snatch,” Louis rolls his eyes and nestles back into Harry’s warm chest.

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Aiden says and raises his arms in surrender, “you two lovebirds are in a boring, monogamous relationship. No room for a dashing, sexy, 20 something like me. I’ll let you two have your fun. God knows I need some.”

Louis holds in his breath because he and Harry haven’t exactly discussed the nature of _whatever_ it is that they have together, but Harry just shrugs, his arm solid on Louis’ shoulders.

“Stay jealous,” He laughs as Aiden retreats into the mess of the crowd.

As soon as he’s gone Harry pulls Louis closer to him to whisper in his ear. Louis can feel his pulse picking up, thrumming underneath his skin.

"Like Aiden?" He asks.

Louis wrinkles his nose, "He's okay. Not you though."

Harry smiles, his dimples appearing.

"What's he do anyway?" Louis asks.

"We're business partners. Nothing special," Harry says voice growing deeper, "anyway, I didn't ask you out to talk about work. Dance with me.”

Louis sighs when he feels Harry pressed against him and wraps his arms around his neck, ready to get lost in the music and his touch.

“Okay.”

 

****

 

 

“Zayn,” Louis turns his head from where he’s lying on the couch, body buried underneath an avalanche of pillows, watching as his friend is bent over as he searches for a couple of paints. It’s a typical Sunday afternoon in their flat, Zayn in his little “studio area” (it’s really just the far corner of the room next to the big windows overlooking the street) working on his latest piece while Louis will laze around the living room, usually with a sketchpad and a couple of drawing pencils. Today’s different though. Louis’ ditched the sketchpad and instead has designated the entire afternoon to suffocating himself under a mountain of pillows as he ruminates over the state of his relationship with Harry.

Fuckin Harry.

Louis eyes Zayn’s bum as if it were his conversational partner. It might as well be. Zayn’s been ignoring him all day in favor for trying to complete whatever piece that’s been stuck in his _beautiful, tortured, artistic_ mind.

“If say, hypothetically, you were…seeing someone…how would you know its “official” or whatever?”

There’s a crash, the sound of Zayn bumping his head on his easel barreling through the room.

“Fuck!” Zayn groans, throwing a paintbrush across the room in Louis’ direction. Louis watches as it flies over his head, missing him by a good foot or two.

“You missed.”

“I’m aware,” Zayn glares at him, rubbing his head, “How did you find out about that anyway? Did you hear us one night?”

“Find out about what? Hear what?” Louis asks, sitting up suddenly to glance at Zayn, who’s now scowling as he rushes to pick up the thrown paintbrush.

“We’re just fucking okay. Don’t call him or do… whatever it is you do,” Zayn replies quickly, staring at the ceiling.

Louis furrows his eyebrows. _What the fuck_ is his best friend is talking about?

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. I know you know. Why else would you ask that question?” Zayn asks as he walks back to his easel, “I’m serious.” He says as he wipes the back of his hand against his forehead, leaving a streak of purple paint there.

“Right,” Louis snorts, glancing at the paint, “Okay Mr. Serious. I still have no idea what you’re talking about. And I was referring to myself. You know my sort-of-relationship with Harry. The reason why I’m barely in this flat anymore.”

“Oh,” Zayn coughs, “Right you and Harry. Yes I’ve noticed.”

“Hold up, don’t think I forgot what you said earlier. Who are you seeing? Is it that guy from the bar a couple weeks ago?”

“No it’s not him. He was so greasy, please.”

“Okay…The girl in our 9 AM?”

“You’ve been to what…class two times? And one was for syllabus week so that doesn’t count. Name one person in our class.”

Louis ignores him, playing with one of the tassels on the pillow placed on his chest, “Perrie?”

“Really Louis? My ex? Really?”

“I don’t know who else it could be.”

“Liam.” Zayn starts, waving a hand at Louis, “You know the guy I’ve had a huge crush on for like, years now? Liam Payne? From the fucking coffee shop we go to every week?”

“No,” Louis gapes, eyes bugging out of his head. “No way,” He grins as he stands up to walk across the room to give Zayn a hearty slap in the balls, “Zayn Malik finally grew a pair.”

“Ow!” Zayn yelps, grabbing his crotch and shoving Louis roughly, “cut it out.”

“Who would’ve thought after two embarrassing, and I mean _embarrassing_ years of awkwardness? I can’t believe it. This is a historic event. We need a moment of silence.”

“God, shut up,” Zayn rolls his eyes, “Is it really _that_ hard to believe?”

“Yes.”

“Unbelievable,” Zayn sighs and goes back to his painting.

“How’d it happen?” Louis asks, not letting Zayn drop the topic. He’s genuinely curious how Zayn finally managed to talk to Liam. He knows how much his friend likes him, knows how a simple hi from Liam will drive him mad, how half his pieces are inspired by Liam one way or another.

“I don’t know, I just, I went to _The Drip_ the other day to get out of the apartment and he was working at the cash register, as usual, and I just got this sudden burst of confidence. And we just talked you know,” Zayn shrugs, “And you know how much I like him. It’s not just the fact that he’s proper fit and all, but there was something there. And when we actually started to talk it just reaffirmed it and things just kind of went from there. Trust me, I still don’t know how we ended up in bed together. I can’t complain though.”

“Wow,” Louis blinks, “I missed a lot.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to be more though?” Louis asks, pushing further. He’s close to word vomiting now, spilling everything about him and Harry to Zayn. They’re in a similar situation and he wants to just…let it all go and talk about it with someone.

“I do,” Zayn says, “You know I do. I’d give the world to be his boyfriend. I just want to be with him all the time, I feel happy when I’m with him, and there’s the oddest little things about him that I pay attention to for no reason, like the tattoos on his forearms, or the cute little beauty marks on his face. And yeah, the sex is great, mind-blowing even. But I really like him,” Zayn’s eyes search him, “I just don’t want to mess it up, yeah? If friends with benefits is what I get I’ll take it.”

It’s quiet, Zayn’s voice fading into silence. Louis walks back to the sofa and sits down, contemplating everything. He bites his lip because Zayn’s answer was just so…accurate. Almost overwhelmingly so, it’s everything he’s felt, put down in words he’s been trying to find. He just met Harry a few weeks ago, but he’s feeling a bit reckless—like he could jump out of his window and run into the streets, screaming. It’s never been this way before, his heart is racing a million miles a second and he can still smell traces of Harry’s cologne, feel the lines of his palms, see his sparkling green eyes. It’s a bit absurd, the way he’s feeling for someone he’s not even dating. But rationality seems foreign to him at the moment and his mine is just Harry. _Harry Harry Harry_. Listening to Harry’s voice slow and deep in his ears, thinking about how Harry’s dimples pop the way they do when he smiles, sitting and talking to Harry for hours.

It scares him a bit, because this is moving too fast for him, like an avalanche crashing down a mountain range. They’ve spent the last month together practically, and it’s like Louis’ known him for years but doesn’t _really_ know him at all at the same time. He knows that Harry has a cat, an English shorthair named Roger, that he loves bananas and spends too much money on frozen yogurt, that he’s helped his sister Gemma dye her hair once and it actually turned out quite well, that he’s thinking about getting a tattoo of an octopus on his thigh. There’s still so much he doesn’t know though, what his childhood was like, if he’s ever been hurt, if he’s ever fallen in love. Harry’s a familiar mystery waiting to be unearthed. He wants to know more, he’s itching to more, a burning scratch that he can’t quite get to, a feeling that he can’t shake. But it’s a good feeling, a feeling where his voice is caught in his throat and his heart is pounding against his chest and he loves it. And he wants more.

He wants them to be exclusive, to be official.

He’s just not sure if Harry feels the same way.

“Your question earlier,” Zayn clears his throat, “It’s about Harry yeah?” Zayn asks, shaking him out of his thoughts.

“Harry,” Louis says, adoring the way his name rolls off his tongue a little too much, “Yeah. It’s about Harry.”

“Right, yeah. You like him do you?”

“Yes. A lot yes. I like him a lot. Maybe more.” Louis stumbles, sinking deeper into the couch.

“You want to be his boyfriend?”

“Yes,” Louis admits, face turning red as he unlocks his phone so he won’t have to look Zayn in the eye, “I really really want to be his boyfriend. So much. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

Zayn sighs and walks over to the couch, nudging Louis’ feet up and plopping them on his lap as he sits down.

“You know I don’t like him,” Zayn says, running a hand through his hair, “There’s something off about him.”

“I know,” Louis replies, “But I do.”

It’s silent for a moment, the sound of Louis’ fingers tapping across his phone and steady breathing heavy in the air.

“You should tell him,” Zayn finally says, “If it’s anything like how I feel about Liam. I don’t like him, but you’re my best friend and I can tell he makes you happy. And I can tell he probably feels the same way, could tell he was head over heels for you when he picked you up on that first date.”

Louis drops his phone, eyes getting foggy. He sits up and launches himself at Zayn, burying his face in his shirt.

“I love you,” Louis sniffs, “that was so sweet. I kind of want to kick you in the ass and kiss you at the same time.”

Zayn smiles wryly, rubbing Louis’ back, “Don’t think Liam would appreciate either option.”

“You too,” Louis mumbles as he pulls away from Zayn’s chest to look him in the eye, “You should tell Liam. I think he likes you just as much.”

Zayn wants to protest, but Louis’ looking at him with his big watery eyes. He’s always been a sucker when it comes to Louis, “Okay.”

“Really?” Louis asks.

“Yeah, yeah, I promise.”

“Yay,” Louis says happily, eyes crinkling.

Louis hugs Zayn, resting his head on his shoulder and Zayn sighs amusedly. He needs to get back to his painting, but it doesn’t seem like Louis wants to move any second and he know he’ll probably get smacked upside the head if he tries to push him off. He relaxes back into the couch and lets Louis cuddle him instead, scraping his fingernails against his scalp gently.

“Oh by the way Zayn,” Louis says.

“Yeah?”

“Did you change your Tumblr user? Couldn’t find you.”

“Oh yeah,” Zayn leans back, “it’s just zaynmalik now. Some girl on Instagram stole my old user for her hipster account. Didn’t want people to think I was her. S’ pretty fucking blatant steal too…I came up with polyesterpistols myself…who else would take that unless they saw my user? No one’s fucking original these days.”

“Oh,” Louis mutters into his neck, “Does this mean I can’t copy your final painting from last semester for a sketch?”

“Really Louis?”

“Art block,” Louis whines.

Zayn sighs, and shakes his head. Louis’ really something.

 

****

 

 

Louis shakes his hips as he slides his socked feet across the kitchen, fringe flopping over his forehead as he grabs the edge of the island counter and shimmies his ass.

Its 2 AM, Zayn’s out for the entire night with Liam, he’s got the flat to himself, and nothing to do.

So naturally, he’s attempting to bake.

 _Fifth Harmony_ is blasting at full volume on the stereo (its secret guilty, guilty pleasure. No one can ever find out. _Especially_ Zayn and Niall. It’s prime blackmail material. If word got out about this, he’d have to kill someone). He’s popped some store bought chocolate cake mix in the oven, put a kettle on the hob (its storming outside, thunder and lightning and heavy rain plaguing London. Tea and cake sound perfect), and is currently getting a head start on devouring a container of vanilla frosting while everything cooks.

Louis licks the spoon, winking at his reflection in the glass of the oven as he sways to the music. He’s dressed up in a pair of over the knee varsity socks, some tiny cotton running shorts that he only ever wears around the house, and a grey crop sweatshirt Zayn convinced him to make when he was going through his crop top phase ( _#BoysInCropTops2k15_ was _definitely_ a thing okay?). If he didn’t know any better, he could definitely be a member of _Fifth Harmony_ (Lauren preferably).

Lord knows he has the ass for it.

Louis’ in the middle of belting a line from _BO$$_ when the timer on the oven rings. He hurries over with a pair of mitts to put the cake on a cooling rack. Once he’s done letting it settle, he turns around and-

“HOLY FUCK!” Louis screams, nearly falling flat on his back as his heart jumps out of his chest. He can feel his blood pulsating, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.

Harry’s there. Just sitting on his counter, legs bent in a pretzel, soaking wet and dressed in all black. His clothes are wet and clung to his body. Louis swallows, eyes wandering down the lines of Harry’s hard body until he sees the unmistakable outline of Harry’s erect dick tenting his sweats. Harry leans back on his hands, thrusting his hips up. He looks wild, _animalistic_ almost, eyes glossy and dilated, lips slick and bee stung.

His mouth curves up into a deep grin, a drop of water sliding down his forehead, and flashes his teeth.

“Hi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaaatttt is up with Harry? And why is he always nearly giving Louis a heart attack and showing up with obnoxious boners? Hmmm
> 
> Yes the little random tidbit about Zayn's tumblr url was a callout. Couldn't help myself, being a hothead and all, but it's all in good fun. Imitation is the highest form of flattery. Glad you like my user. You know who you are ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for everything and thank you for anyone who recced this story it means so much to me. ALSO WOW I LOVE YOUR COMMENTS! Here's chapter 4- second to last! Can't believe i'm nearly done with this. I love you all. 
> 
> Feel free to shoot me any comments on tumblr/twitter too! I'm silkbombs on both :)

“Harry,” Louis gapes, dropping the oven mitt in his hand. It lands with a soft thud, the only sound in the room alongside with Harry’s heavy pants and muffled music blearing out of the stereo. He watches Harry with widened eyes, squeezing down on the hard marble between his hands. Harry looks…different, _feral_. Rain water drips down the marble smooth planes of his face, fat clear drops of water glistening on cream-pale skin, wet baby hairs swirled on the crown of his forehead. Perched on his table, spine jutted out with the exaggerated curve of his back, it’s almost as if he’s ready to pounce. Louis feels trapped, like he’s stuck in a room with a wild animal.

Harry doesn’t pounce, just effortlessly lifts himself down from the island, wet shoes squishing against the floor. He circles the room staring Louis down with darkened jewel colored eyes so intense that he has to look away, feeling eerily like his prey.

He places his hand, cold and wet on the back of Louis’ neck. Louis feels himself tense up, shoulders drawn in as he focuses his gaze on one of the tiles on the floor. He doesn’t understand why he suddenly feels a prick of nerves underneath his skin, it’s _just Harry_ for god’s sake.

“You’re nervous,” Harry says, thumb stroking his skin.

Louis frowns, still focused on the tile on the floor, desperate to keep his eyes off him. He scowls when a small pool of arousal blooms in his lower abdomen, slow, heated burn flickering like a candle, he’s not supposed to be turned on by this…whatever this is.

“M’ not nervous,” He protests, voice betraying him as it cracks. He presses his lips together, heart rate picking up and tries to move away from Harry’s grasp on his neck. It backfires, Louis falling against the counter as Harry steps with him, caging him as his hand slides to his throat, fingers pressed against the skin right over his artery, thumping rabbit –fast underneath his skin.

“I can feel your pulse babe,” Harry replies, smelling like thunderstorms and mint and the clean body wash he keeps in his shower, breath hot against Louis’ cheek, “it’s just me.”

“Yeah well, maybe it’s because you decided to bloody show up in my kitchen, unannounced. Would give anyone a scare,” Louis mumbles.

Harry chuckles, all throaty and tinged with _want_ , and presses himself closer against him, ducking his head so he can bury his face in Louis’ shoulder, nose sliding against his jaw, “Wanted to see you.”

Louis shivers. Harry’s clothes are wet and cold, but his skin is hot and sticky and damp with rain. He stands there, feeling the heat in Harry’s body transfer to his, patches of water blooming on his own shirt. It’s too much—he feels like he’s in a haze of arousal, mind fogging up as he goes boneless. Harry slides his hand flat against his stomach, softly dragging his nails across his abdomen as he presses a finger in his navel.

Louis sighs, letting Harry run his hands up and down his sides for a while until he feels Harry’s erection press up against his stomach, mind clearing up as Harry groans low in his ear. He can’t let himself get distracted again—he has questions and he wants answers.

“I need to turn the stereo off,” Louis clears his throat, squirming out of Harry’s grasp to pad across the room and put some space between them. His thoughts swirl around in his head. He still needs to know why Harry’s here, how he got into his flat. He can’t think straight when Harry’s so close to him. He can’t be sneaking into his house whenever he feels like it. Zayn would throw a fit if he found out.

Harry trails closely behind, locking his arms around his waist as soon as he shuts the music off, the sound of the refrigerator humming hanging overhead.

“You smell good. Sweet. What’d you bake, love?” Harry asks, voice casual as if the fact that he’s somehow broke into Louis’ apartment and is now dripping wet in the middle of Louis’ kitchen at 2 in the morning is the most normal thing in the world.

Louis wants to laugh, heart rate slowing down as he deflates when he realizes just how absurd the entire situation is. He slides his fingers against Harry’s, where his hands are locked together at his waist and gently pries them apart so he can he escape from his arms.

Harry whines, watching miserably as Louis shakes him off to grab a hand towel. Louis can’t help but giggle a little as he watches Harry stumble, almost tripping on his own feet like a newborn fawn as he tries to get back to Louis. The thing is, it’s so ridiculous. All of it—Harry here in his kitchen in the early AM, soaked like a wet dog, clumsy and loud and Bambi-like even though he managed to sneak into his house as quiet as a ghost.

“Harry,” Louis says, turning around to hand him the towel, “how’d you get in?”

He shrugs, “Window was unlocked. You should lock it next time, you never know who could come in.” Harry grins slyly like the cheeky little shit he is. He peers over at the cake cooling on the rack behind him, eyes flickering excitedly, “Ooh cake! Can we decorate it?”

Louis blinks, staring at Harry who’s now busy fussing with the cake supplies. He waits for an indication that he was kidding about the window.

It doesn’t come.

“What? Harry! I live on the fifth floor,” Louis hisses, “You didn’t climb all the way up here did you?”

The fire escape in Louis’ building is rubbish, there’s no way Harry would’ve been able to climb all five floors without slipping and breaking his head open, especially in this storm. Unless he was Spider-man. Which Louis highly doubts.

Harry turns around, oblivious to Louis' internal freak out, a spoon in his mouth and a container of vanilla frosting in his hand, “Was fun. Good view you got up here.”

Okay. What the fuck?

“What the fuck?”

“I like climbing,” Harry says, as if it’s obvious.

Well then. Looks like he is dating Spider-man.

“Oh no you don’t,” Louis growls suddenly, a flare of annoyance and an irritatingly apparent flurry of worry building up in his chest ( _climbing up the fire escape, Jesus Harry. What even are you?_ ) and yanks the spoon out of his mouth, “you don’t get to risk your life, break into my house, drench my kitchen, and eat my food.”

He takes the spoon and sticks it stubbornly in his own mouth.

“Wasn’t risking my life. It was easy,” Harry pouts pitifully, squirming as he rocks his hips forward, erection still apparent underneath his wet joggers.

Louis can’t believe him.

“Quit sticking your obnoxious boner everywhere,” He demands.  

“Heyyy,” Harry pouts and pushes his pelvis into his, “it’s not obnoxious.”

“Put that thing away,” Louis snaps, slapping Harry’s dick (feeling just a bit sorry when Harry’s big eyes get all droopy and puppy-like). “Why are you even here?”

“I told you. I wanted to see you,” Harry says, patting his dick regretfully, “you didn’t have to hurt him.”

“Harry,” Louis says, eyeing him exasperatedly, “you know I love being with you and I’ll always say yes if you want to come see me. Couldn’t you just call me or text me and let me know so I can let you in?”

“It’s more fun this way,” Harry says, “plus I got to watch you dance. You’re cute you know, my dick agrees.”

“Are you really referring to your penis in third person right now?”

“He likes you,” Harry moans as he grabs the back of Louis’ thighs,  inching his hands higher and higher until he reaches the edges of his shorts, pressing his fingers under the cotton to cup a cheek, warm and smooth in his palm, “he likes you a lot.”

Louis exhales, letting Harry massage his arse above his shorts. He’s getting hard, his cock filling up and he lets out an embarrassingly high squeak when Harry grabs his leg to wrap it around his waist.

“Harry I-“

“Shh,” Harry cuts him off, thrusting shallowly against him. His breathing has gotten heavier, chest rising and falling as he stares at him through half lidded eyes. They rut against each other, Harry’s large hands coming to grip the edges of his thigh-highs.

“God,” Louis breathes, letting Harry press his mouth sloppily against his. Everything’s wet and slick, and and so so _hot_ it feels like an inferno. Their cocks slide against one another, slow and full of indulgence, the friction causing little sparks of heat to build in his pelvis. He has to grip Harry’s shoulders, clutching onto sinewy muscle, to keep himself from collapsing at the knees, feeling so weak underneath his touch.

“You drive me crazy,” Harry grunts, “no idea what you do to me. That outfit, Louis. God. You look so fucking good, your thighs, your little belly, your _arse_.”

Louis closes his eyes, letting Harry prattle nonsense in his ear as he fucks against him.

“Harry,” He says, “Harry, Harry, Harry.”

“Yes baby?” Harry replies, voice wrecked and jagged, “What do you need sweetheart?”

Louis wiggles out of his grip, flipping them around so Harry’s the one pressed against the counter now. He shoves his way between his legs, pointedly ignoring his hard cock, the tip peeking out of his sweats, and reaches up to thread his fingers in his curls, yanking down so his head is lowered.

Harry lets out a cry, digging his teeth into his lip, shiny and slick and watermelon red. His cheeks are pink, splotchy crimson blush contrasting against his china-doll pale skin. His chest falls up and down, staccato breaths slowing down as his hair falls over his face in dark, damp, waves, arms flexed as he holds himself up by the edge of the table. He looks so _desperate_ for it. Desperate for Louis to do anything to him, to grab his cock and make him come with the flick of a wrist, teeth sunk in his shoulder, because he _needs_ it so much, because he’s helpless underneath his touch, because Louis knows how to make him fall apart in seconds.

He could make him fall apart if he wanted to.

Louis hides his smirk, because he knows it, he’s aware of it. The tables are turned.

The power’s in his hands now.

He steps on his tiptoes, pushing himself up and whispers in his ear, taking full advantage of his position and giving Harry’s curls another sharp tug because he knows how much he loves it, how it makes him go slack and weightless.

“I need you to…” He whispers.

“Yes, yes, whatever you want,” Harry pants, glossed over eyes falling shut as Louis scratches his scalp. He lifts his another hand to press his fingers between his lips until they fall open, thumb surrounded by the slippery heat of Harry’s mouth.

Louis smiles, thin lips curling up. He’s got him where he wants him, “I need you to do…”

“Do…yes I’ll do anything” Harry begs, kissing his finger, “Just tell me what.”

Louis drags his thumb out of his mouth, slipping it down his plush lower lip as slow as possible as he stares at Harry with half-lidded eyes.

“I need you to do the dishes, twat.”

He steps away from him, removing his hands and tugging his top to straighten it out as he gestures toward the sink.

Louis has to muffle himself with his hand to keep from cackling as Harry’s mouth falls open in disbelief, eyebrows shooting up comically.

“What?”

“You heard me. You’re not gonna fuck me after climbing up my apartment in the middle of the night with no warning. Do the dishes and we’ll talk.”

“Louis,” Harry wails, looking like a petulant child as he crosses his arms.

“Uh-uh, get those washed up. I’ll be in my room, having some fun,” Louis strokes himself over his shorts with a smirk (because he’s evil), “you can join me after you’re done.”

Louis grins, turning on his heel slowly, letting Harry savor the image of his back retreating down the hallway.

He falls into bed facedown, rutting against the bedsheets. He’s still hard as a rock, just as affected as Harry, and he starts to wonder if making Harry do the washing up instead of getting him off was worth it.

He stills, pausing and laughing into pillow when he hears Harry’s loud groan as the sink turns on from his room.

_Definitely worth it._

 

 

****

 

 

In retrospect, spending his Saturday with Zayn and Liam probably wasn’t the best idea. Don’t get him wrong—he loves them both, Zayn’s been his best friend since forever (they even have matching tattoos) but like most new couples, Liam and Zayn are obsessed with each other. Sickeningly so.  And yes—they’re official now. After Zayn and Louis’ painfully mushy heart to heart, Zayn had taken his own advice and asked Liam to be his boyfriend.

They’ve attached themselves to each other ever since then, orbiting around each other, one always following the other, sharing secret smiles and an unnecessary amount of kisses, forming some sort of weird Zayn-Liam blob of a human.

In other words, they can’t keep their hands off each other.

Case in point now:

They’re all the loft, surrounded by empty paper cups of tea and coffee and half eaten pastries (complementary of Liam of course), the television on low volume in the background. Louis’ got his sketchpad open as usual, a pencil in between his fingers and another tucked behind his ear, doing a couple of concept art pieces for his latest project. Zayn’s broken out part of his extensive spray paint collection, aerosol cans littered all around the loft, half-finished with an abstract piece that’s currently propped up the wall, abandoned in favor of making out with Liam on the floor.

On the floor of all places.

Right in front of Louis. Where he’s trying to focus on his work and not the sound of sucking noises. Or the sight of his two good friends having a go in the living room.

Louis glares at them from where he’s sat. He’s contemplating throwing his eraser at Zayn’s head (they’re both throwers the two of them, it happens a lot when they’re together), which is currently bent over Liam’s as he slides his leg between Liam’s open ones (probably to give him some weird leg-job if that’s even a _thing_ ). Liam lets out a groan—and Louis actually winces because _god_ he could’ve gone his entire life without hearing that.

“Fuck Zee,” Liam says, low and guttural in his throat as Zayn does something with his mouth—something Louis prefers not to find out.

“I’d rather you not,” Louis says, quite loudly and decides he’s had enough. He closes one eye, taking aim, and throws his eraser at Zayn’s head (an ongoing theme in their relationship), which to his pleasure, actually hits the back of it, bouncing on the ground.

_Score._

Zayn lifts himself on his forearms, turning around to glower at him, eyes shooting daggers. If he wasn’t used to that look, Louis would be scared shitless—Zayn can be very terrifying, and very very beautiful, when he wants to. But he’s used to that look, so he just sticks his tongue out.

“Louis,” Zayn says slowly, as if he’s talking to a child (he might as well be), “Don’t you have some work to be doing?”

“I’m trying. Bit hard when your two mates are having sex in front of you,” He snorts, peeking over at Liam who looks absolutely ruined, back flat against the floor as he stares at the ceiling with stars in his eyes. He rolls his eyes, _men_.

“Why don’t you do it at Niall’s then? Or Harry?” Zayn grits out as Liam sticks his fingers through his belt-loop, trying to tug him back down to resume their make-out session.

“He’s out at some golf tournament with his rich family,” Louis pouts, “plus Harry’s got work today for some reason. Odd hours.”

“Well what about Eleanor? Or Stan?”

“Eleanor is out with Max. Stan’s visiting the family.”

“The library?” Zayn tries, starting to look a bit desperate.

Scratch that, very desperate, judging by the way he’s trying not to grab Liam’s dick.

“This is my apartment too you know,” Louis sniffs and slams down his notepad.

“Yeah well, I called dibs on the living room,” Zayn shoots back, trying to fend a needy Liam off  his neck.

“You can’t just call dibs on the living room!”

“Can too.”

“Cannot.”

“Can too.”

“Cannot.”

“I’m not doing this with you,” Zayn purses his lips into a thin line, indicating that he’s very much done with the conversation. He smooths his shirt down, stupid chiseled abs rippling under his sheer white shirt as he shifts to face Louis. Fuck him for being so attractive.

“Yeah, well I’m not moving,” Louis bites back and crosses his arms petulantly. He’s got no problem with moving, but really, he doesn’t want to be the one to give in. Sore loser and all.

Zayn’s not one to budge down either, they’re both hot heads—Louis especially. But Zayn’s got enough stubbornness to rival a mule.

They stare each other down, both pointedly ignoring Liam’s shallow breaths. Zayn’s smoke-dark eyes are sharp as a knife, but Louis knows his blue ones can be just as piercing. They’re both waiting for or the other to break, and Louis refuses to back down.

“Guys,” Liam whines from where he’s laid down on the floor, trying to get the two to stop fighting.

When neither of them reply, he tries again.

“Guys,” Liam says a little louder.

Louis and Zayn’s heads both snap towards him at the same time, frighteningly in sync. Two sets of eyes glaring right down at Liam, who’s currently propped up on his elbows, shirt askew, a mysterious wet patch on his jeans.

 He smiles sheepishly.

“What?!” Zayn and Louis bark at the same time. It’s a bit terrifying (very terrifying) if Liam’s being honest.

“Uhh…” Liam figured he’d suggest moving to Zayn’s room, but knowing his boyfriend, he won’t want to give in, and knowing Louis, he’d rather jump out a window before losing. He searches the room desperately trying to come up with something before landing on the TV set.

“Uhhh…check out the news,” Liam says lamely.

“The news,” Zayn repeats slowly, looking at him like he’s crazy.

“Yeah uhh…” Liam studies the TV. He’s in luck—there’s a segment about the National Gallery, and he knows anything art related will catch his boyfriend’s attention. “Ah look! Looks like there was a burglary down at the museum babe. You know the one you and Louis always go to.”

To Liam’s surprise, it actually seems to work, both Zayn and Louis’ heads turning to the telly. Sure enough, it’s out on the TV as breaking news. Zayn scrambles up to grab the remote, ignoring Liam’s little whine as he slips his hand out of his trousers.

“No way,” Zayn says, “there’s been a heist at The National Gallery.”

Louis’ just as intrigued, fight forgotten as he moves to sit next to Zayn on the couch, “the security there is top-notch. That’s impossible.”

Zayn nods, agreeing.

“Zayn come back,” Liam begs, his dick painfully hard in his jeans. He’s glad the fight’s momentarily over, but he still wants to get off.

“Shh…in a second babe. I wanna hear this,” Zayn hushes him turning up the volume on the news. Louis and Zayn are both silent, listening in while Liam sighs and falls back on the floor, resigned to ignore his painful boner.

_“…This is the second major heist within the past month, with the Tate Modern being hit just two weeks ago. Five paintings have been stolen, one of which has been reported to been a Van Gogh. Police are still investigating.”_

The screen changes to footage of a police chief speaking, standing outside the museum, “ _So far we’re still trying to sweep the place looking for evidence. If this is part of the serial heists that have happened over the past year, we’re convinced that the paintings will be returned. There’s been several art burglaries across Europe, but the pieces all end up returned to their original spot. The perpetrators however, are still unknown…”_

Zayn frowns, muting the television as soon as the segment’s over. He stands up, stretching and pacing a couple steps in silence before going to grab Liam’s hand to help him up.

“Odd,” he remarks.

Louis has to agree. A string of heists all across Europe with no one being caught is odd enough, usually burglars don’t get too far. The fact that the paintings are being returned however, is even stranger. What’s the point of stealing something if you’re just going to give it back?

He echoes his thoughts out loud.

 “Very odd. Why would someone steal something just to put it back later?”

“Not sure,” Zayn shrugs, and runs a hand through his hair before grabbing Liam’s hand to pull him up so they can walk to his room, “hope they catch whoever it is.”

“Yeah,” Louis nods, tearing his eyes away from the television, “me too.”

 

 

****

 

 

“Harry,” Louis giggles, he’s all wobbly and he’s trying best not to trip over his own legs. It’s cold outside, but he’s warm all over, airy and bubbly and ready to float away any second. Louis feels Harry laugh behind him, deep and rumbly and echoing in his chest, one gargantuan hand pressed against his back as he navigates him up a flight of stairs. One of Harry’s many scarves is tied over his eyes, and he’s currently a little tipsy, a pleasant fog of alcohol clouding his mind.

He feels nice and loose, the aftermath of a beautiful dinner and one too many glasses of red wine at one of Harry’s favorite French restaurants. He had insisted taking him out for the past couple of days, even though Louis had been perfectly content just lying on the sofa in Harry’s flat, watching romcoms and eating takeout until the early hours like they’d been doing all along. But Harry wanted to bring him out on another _proper_ date, and who was Louis to say no?

Plus he said he had a surprise. And Louis loves surprises.

Which is why he’s currently blindfolded, being led by Harry back to the flat.

“Just a couple more steps,” Harry grins, and Louis hears the metallic jangle of keys followed by the click of the front door being opened. He smiles, letting Harry usher him into the room. Harry slams the door shut and grips both his arms, pushing him forward until the back of his legs hit the sofa. He gently sits him down, watching fondly as Louis falls onto the overstuffed couch with a dramatic huff.

Harry takes the moment to admire him, smile pulling at his lips when Louis lolls his head back on the cushion, fluffy chestnut hair pillowing behind his head like a soft cloud. He looks golden in the light, marigold shimmer dusting his cheekbones, the tip of his pinked nose, the bow of his lips. He could be a pixie, with his dainty _everything_ and star kissed skin and silver bell laugh.

“Harry?” Louis slurs, voice bright and slow,“d’you have my surprise yet? I want my surprise.”

He’s so pretty like this, is all Harry can think, body slack and warm, pink lips furled lazily, small feet tucked underneath his thighs. Harry bends down, letting his fingers run over the smooth shell of his ear as he kisses his forehead. Louis melts underneath him, cotton soft hair falling over his eyes.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” Harry promises and Louis nods lazily sinking back into the pile of linen pillows he’s sprawled on top of. He nuzzles into the fabric, inhaling the clean scent of detergent and _Harry, Harry, Harry_. He could lie here forever he thinks, burrow his body underneath Harry’s throw pillows and just never leave.

He’s in the middle of stretching out, laid face down and on his stomach, fingers hooked in the crevices between each cushion as he pushes himself back on his haunches like a cat when Harry comes back. He can hear him setting something down on the ground, heavy judging by the long puff of air Harry breathes out when it settles on the ground.

“Alright babe,” Harry says, grabbing his hands to pull him off the couch and a couple steps forward, “you can take your blindfold off now.”

He’s buzzing in anticipation now, swaying as his fingers grapple to undo the knot of the scarf. He struggles a bit, before sighing and letting Harry undo it for him. It falls away, and Louis has to squint to adjust to the light, fuzzy white spots swimming in and out of his line of vision before his eyes clear up, the daze of alcohol seeming to drain away, everything crisp suddenly when he sees what’s in front of him because _there is no way._

There’s _no fucking way_.

Louis has to step back, breath catching in his throat because sitting there, right in front of him, on a tall wooden easel, is _him._

Well a portrait of him.

But he’s there, muted in the colors of a periwinkle sky, soft cotton candy hues bleeding into one another. His profile, golden and glittering with the color of pink lady apples and subdued butterscotch, is tilted toward the twilight sky, eyes open and sparkling as he overlooks a foamy white ocean, powder blue water. Everything’s so delicately painted, precisely done, each textured stoke made with care. He’s bare shouldered in the picture, the light hitting him, a translucent film of opal glistening over the fading thin, cuts of his bone structure, his salt-kissed feathery hair, long caramel lashes dripping the colors of the sky.

It’s the most beautiful painting he’s ever seen.

And wow that sounds narcissistic, but it _is_ —and not because it’s a painting of him _._ Objectively, the artistry is beyond anything he’s ever seen. The color composition, the swirls of paint, the meticulous attention to detail, every element effortlessly seeping into another—he can’t believe Harry made this, took the time to memorize his face, to picture him like this, to juxtapose him against a pastel sky and satin sea.

Tears burn behind his eyes, threatening to leak, something heavy and overwhelming beneath his sternum.

He’s not sure he can breathe.

“Louis?” Harry asks lightly, worry collecting in his furrowed brows, “Louis, you haven’t said anything. Do you not like it?”

His voice shakes with uncertainty and it’s the first time Louis’ ever heard Harry sound insecure. He’s always so sure of himself, and it _aches_ because how could he not like it? How could he not love it?

“Is it too creepy? God does it freak you out? Shit. Shit it probably freaks you out you don’t have to accept it I’m sorry if it makes you feel weird I didn’t mean t-“

Louis exhales sharply, forcing himself to shake himself out of it. He lunges toward Harry, grabbing his cheeks and pulling him down so they’re face to face, searching his eyes desperately. The words die on the tip of Harry’s tongue, swallowed by silence.

“Harry,” Louis says, voice scratchy, “Harry.”

Harry bites his lip the way Louis loves, front teeth sinking into his lower lip, chin dimpling, making him look impossibly young, meadow eyes flickering.

Louis slides his hand up to cradle his face in his palm, knuckles brushing against his temple.

“I love it,” he says, tone full of sincerity, “I love it _so so much_ you don’t understand. I can’t- I can’t believe you made this for me, I’ll never be able to express to you how much it means to me. This painting, it’s the _best_ thing anyone’s ever given me. And I’m not just saying that okay,” he grips his face tighter, as if it'll make him understand, he needs him to  _understand_ , “I mean it. You have to understand, I’ve never—I’ve never had someone do something for me like this. I’d be an idiot to not love it, it’s beautiful. And all this time we’ve been spending together, _god_ , I’ve didn’t think I could get happier, feel more wanted, cared for, but of course, of course you manage to make me even happier, to make me feel more cared for with this. It’s everything. Harry Styles, _you’re_ everything”

He finishes, slightly out of breath as the words rushing out of his mouth before he can process what he’s saying, a storm of emotion that he’s kept bottled up finally tumbling out. It’s too late to take it back now—he needs Harry to know how he feels, how this is so much more than just _casual_ to him.

He wavers, desperate for Harry to say something, but he’s met with silence.

His heart pounds, a sinking feeling of regret washing over him.

“Louis I…I haven’t been completely honest with you,“ Harry finally says, voice laden with guilt, a tortured look in his eyes.

“What?” Louis asks, stomach dropping, “What do you mean?”

“I, I’m-“ but he’s cut off, eyes suddenly widening, mouth turned in a grimace as he leans forward uneasily, “I…I..”

He trips, head falling lazily and quickly snapping up like he’s trying to keep himself above water.

“What?” Louis asks frantically, panic setting in, he’s almost shouting, “Harry what’s going on?”

Harry’s eyes are getting hazier, slowly hooding, nonsensical words slurring into one another. Louis stumbles backward when Harry suddenly falls forward, weight heavy and dead as his chest pushes into his shoulder.

“Harry?!” Louis panics, Harry’s eyes are closing, head lolling to the side like a doll, as he starts to slump down to the floor, “Harry?! Fuck. Fuck.”

Louis does his best to support him as he frantically searches his pockets for his mobile phone, he needs to call an ambulance. Needs to get him medical attention. But just as he’s about to dial the emergency number there’s a sharp pain in his calf, sudden and piercing like a needle.

He lets out a yelp, phone slipping out of his grip and landing on the ground with a clatter, reaching down to rub his leg, when his head starts swimming, vision becoming foggy. The world tilts, room spinning impossibly fast, and it’s like oxygen is being sucked out of the room, like he’s drowning slowly, ever so slowly. Colors and light and furniture everywhere, twirling, twirling, twirling. His eyelids are heavy, falling shut, and his head is feather light.

The last thing he sees is a figure, long and tall and lean before he’s falling.

_Falling, falling, falling._

And the world turns black.                      


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS REFERENCES TO THE ROOM AND A BAD HARAMBE JOKE
> 
> HERE IT IS!! The last chapter of this hell fic. Thanks to anyone who actually reads this and for leaving feedback. I'm sorry it took so long, I was getting kind of tired of this storyline to be honest, and I ended up hating my work (this fic as you can probably tell, was not well planned out and I regret that alot. Also it wasn't beta'd or Britpicked at all, since I have no one to look over my work) and I have several other fics planned out that I'm very excited to write (kind of glad just to get this one out of the way).
> 
> I hope you still enjoy this last chapter and there WILL be an epilogue that I already have written out and will post sometime tomorrow.
> 
> This is dedicated to AJ (glamourfics on tumblr) who was sweet enough to come into my inbox and tell me she loved this story. Without her encouragement, I don't know if I would've had the willpower to write this.

_Softness. The first thing he feels is softness._ His fingers curl into something, something warm and textured and fibrous underneath the flesh beneath his nails. Whatever it is, it’s oddly _present_ on his skin, the rest of his body empty and numb, as if his hand was detached from him, its own sentient being, and everything else was just _space,_ all clean clinical white and soundless noise and the dull prickliness of small meaningless _nothing_. He clutches at whatever he’s got in his hand letting the feeling seep into his nerves. His palms are pressed against the material, luxurious and plush underneath his skin.

Blood rushes through his veins, hot and pumping and collecting in his face where numbness begins to fade. He pushes his cheek against the material now, bristles of wool tickling the planes of his face and the space under his jaw as his eyelids slowly open.

As soon as they do, he immediately snaps them shut.

The things is, _it hurts. Fucking everything’s painful._ Intense, that’s what it is, too intense, too vivid. There’s colors all over the place, blurry and crashing into one another, blues, reds, purples, and browns all smudged and indecipherable. His vision is abstract and pain inducing, nothing solid, the world fluid and liquid and softened around the edges, like he’s trapped inside a kaleidoscope.

Louis keeps his eyes closed tightly for a couple more moments, inhaling through his nose as he tries to shake the ever-present feeling of dizziness in his head. Feeling is flooding back through his body, shooting up his upper torso, like lightning striking. His mouth is cottony and tastes musty and dry, his tongue too thick and stuck to roof of his mouth. He can’t seem to feel much of the lower part of his body, vaguely aware of his limbs.

Lying there he waits, listens to the steady hum of the air vents as blood rushes from the tips of his fingers to the very ends of his toes, regaining feeling. Finally, when he feels significantly more alive, like he’s fully human, mustering all the strength he can, he sits up and blinks.

It’s a mistake. As soon as he’s above the floor, nausea hits him, like waves crashing against a shoreline. Sour bile rises up his throat and in a split second he’s falling forward on his hands, back arched in the air as he wretches, dry heaving as his stomach attempts to empty itself.

Nothing comes out.

Louis breathes in, face pinked and wet with saliva and tears. He pushes himself off his knees, messily drying himself off with the sleeve of his shirt. Stumbling, he grabs the edge of the couch in front of him to regain his footing.

Then, when he’s finally still, the pain in his head dulled to a vague throb, he thinks.

_What in the hell happened?_

He knows he’s in Harry’s living room, he’s been here countless times. The antique Kashan rug Louis had been lying on just minutes before is unmistakably his, the eggshell cream walls are the same as they’ve always been, the earthy crochet cozies tossed on the carved elm coffee table still exactly where they were left.

His eyes to drift to the center of the room, swallowing dryly when he sees it. It’s the most obvious indicator of _Harry,_ the portrait of himself still perched on its easel, looking completely untouched. Just as it was when it had been presented to him. The events of last night’s date flood through his memories and Louis finds himself blushing, eyes softening fondly. He loves it, loves how much Harry put into it.

Louis moves forward, stepping towards the portrait when he feels it—it was always there, the sliver of pain he never seemed to notice until now, too preoccupied with the throb in his temple—a sharp searing heat in his calf.

He looks down, eyes almost rolling into the back of his head when he sees the tranquilizer dart lodged in his leg, the long needle buried firmly in his flesh, pierced through a layer of denim.

And then, he screams.

 

 

****

 

It takes Louis fifteen minutes to calm himself down (well, the closest thing to calm he can possibly make himself in this situation). As soon as he had seen the dart in his leg, he had nearly fainted, had a mini panic attack as he tried to build the courage up to pull the needle out, contemplated calling his mum, google searched the safest way to remove a fucking _tranquilizer dart_ from yourself, and then tugged it out of his skin in one quick motion, nearly fainting _again_ when blood began to bloom where the wound had been.

He’s in the kitchen now, sat on Harry’s granite countertop, the leg of his trousers rolled up. The sink is running, cold water rushing out of the spout and there’s an array of plasters and gauzes laid out on the table. Louis picks up a square of cloth, wet with rubbing alcohol, and dabs it on the small spot where the needle had been. He barely winces when he feels the stinging burn of antiseptic. It’s not nearly as bad as how it felt when he had ripped the dart out of himself and he’s grown used to the feeling of antibiotics on open wounds after years of accidents from fooling around on skateboards with Zayn.

Speaking of Zayn, he’s probably freaking out by now. Louis winces at _that_ because he already knows that Zayn doesn’t trust Harry. The last time he had checked the time, it was 4 PM, just a day after the date he had with Harry last night. He had promised Zayn he’d be home by 1 at the latest, and he always texts him several times through the day.

He still hasn’t touched his phone since he had woken up from his sedative induced coma.

_What a fucking trip of a sentence._

Honestly, everything feels like a dream. A really fucked up hyper-realistic dream. He’s almost expecting himself to wake up at any moment.

He thinks to himself as he tosses the dirtied gauze in the bin and patches himself up with a plaster, glaring at shining dart that’s now sitting on the kitchen top. So far he’s gathered three things:

  1. Harry’s missing, he’s _always_ fucking missing. But this time it’s different. (and he had checked every single room in the flat to make sure, even the closets and the washing machine in case Harry’s decided to be even weirder than normal today. He may or may not have snorted and made a closet joke to himself while he did this. Humor’s great, even if your boyfriend-hookup- friends with benefits- thing is missing and you’ve just woken up after being shot up with heavy duty drugs or whatever)
  2. Someone else had been in the flat last night, shot him and Harry (he clearly remembers Harry drowsily collapsing on the spot before he had, unless he was acting, which perhaps makes this situation even more fucked-up than it already is) the with a tranquilizer gun, and hadn’t noticeably stolen anything. Except perhaps his boyfriend.
  3. He doesn’t know what the fuck to do.



Well, technically he does. He knows he _should_ call the police and make a missing person’s report or something. _But,_ his instinct, for whatever reason, is telling him the opposite. In fact, he’s doing everything he rationally shouldn’t be doing. He’s ignoring his phone, he isn’t contacting anyone, he’s not seeking out help.

Instead, he’s just sitting here half panicking on the inside, half eerily calm as he organizes the first-aid kit he had nicked from Harry’s medicine cabinet.

He’s stacking the plasters into a small pile when suddenly the loud, clear ping of a text message sounds from the living room.

Louis immediately straightens, eyes drifting to his own phone on the counter. The screen is black, no new message notification lighting up the screen.

_Ping!_

There it is again, the sound clearer and crisper than the first time before. His own screen is still blank.

Hyperaware, back board straight, senses alert, his feet move at their own accord as he stiffly follows the sound back into the living room. Louis glances, taking in his surroundings until he sees _it_ and _how did he not notice_.

Harry’s phone is lying haphazardly on the floor, the screen lit up brightly.

Louis stares at it, cemented in the spot where he’s standing until the screen fades back to black. After what seems like the slowest half minute of his life, he walks toward the device, circling it as if he was a hawk, and hesitantly reaches out. Fingers elongated, he brushes against the phone carefully, as if it will burn to the touch.

It doesn’t.

He inhales and clicks the home screen. He knows Harry’s password by memory now, he’s seen him enter it in at least a hundred times. Like clockwork, he punches the four digits in.

 _9999_ (honestly, he needs a more secure password).

Just a couple taps is all it takes. He’s in.

It takes him right to the message app, where he sees two texts from an unknown number. His brows knit in confusion when he reads the first one, just a simple address. The next, the coffee emoji.

He doesn’t have too much time to think about them though, because as soon as he’s finished reading, the phone rings.

Louis jolts in surprise as the mobile buzzes in his hand, eyes immediately drawn to the name on the screen. _A._

He doesn’t even spare a second thought before he answers it.

“Harry where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for two bloody hours now.  Did you turn off your other phone or something? You fucking cunt you know I can’t afford to ring your personal for security reasons. We need to discuss what we’re doing tomorrow and I know I gave you today off but there’s a disruption in our plans and you well fucking know I won’t fix it myself. I didn’t hire you as my right hand man for no—“

“Hello?” Louis chokes out, interrupting the angry (but vaguely familiar) voice on the other side of the line. His head is spinning from everything he’s just heard. Why is everything so damn confusing?

The line goes silent for a couple seconds before he hears the sound of someone awkwardly clearing their throat, “Um. Who am I speaking to?”

Louis bites scratches at his arm, quickly debating whether or not he should reveal his identity. He gives it three seconds before he gives up and just ends up blurting out his name.

“Louis.”

“Oh fuck. As in Tomlinson? Harry’s boyfriend?”

Louis blushes at the word _boyfriend,_ the tips of his fingers tingling and his heart racing up as a high pitchy gurgle of joy rises up his throat. It’s wholly inappropriate in this situation, his reaction. He reminds himself to get a grip, because Harry’s fucking missing, possibly kidnapped, and right now is not the time to flushing like a school girl because someone called him Harry’s boyfriend.

“Er, yes,” he can’t hold back the giggle that colors the end of his answer (Harry told someone he’s his _boyfriend!),_ “Who is this?”

The voice sighs, the sound of someone shifting crackling through the wire, “It’s Aiden, we met that one time?”

Realization dawns on his features as he opens his mouth, “Oh Aiden. Hi.”

“Hi Louis, do you um…mind passing the phone to Harry?” Aiden mumbles, “We need to uh, discuss work things.”

“I’d love to but um,” Louis worries his lip between his teeth, wondering how he’ll explain to Harry’s business partner why he isn’t available at the moment, “…he’s not here.”

“What do you mean he’s not there?” Aiden demands, voice suddenly harsh, “Is he asleep? Did he run to the store?”

Louis winces. Even though he’s not Aiden’s biggest fan and he’s gathered that he’s a bit of a smarmy dick from the few times he’s met him, he does seem to be close to Harry. He knows they’re business partners and they work together (in whatever it is that they do, _sales_ or something) and he deserves an explanation for what’s going on (even though said explanation is insane to put it shortly), so he decides to just put it out there. Plain and simple.

“I er, I think he’s been kidnapped.”

Aiden is silent on the other side of the phone and Louis wavers awkwardly, picking at a throw pillow as he waits for a response.

Nothing comes. The line goes dead.

A minute later he gets another text, this time from _A._

Another address followed by a “ _see you in 10”_.

He sighs and shoves his feet into his shoes, rushing out the door to catch a cab. Just as he’s halfway out the flat building he gets another message from Aiden.

“ _bring three bananas. it’s important.”_

He groans and takes off back to the kitchen, wondering for what seems like the fiftieth time that day what his life has become.

 

 

****

 

“Are you sure this is the right place? Can’t you check the address one more time?”

Louis bends over, hands pressed to the roof of the car. He’s standing on the curb, tapping his foot impatiently as sleek expensive cars rush by. A gush of wind blows past him, it's chilly fingers running through his hair and erecting gooseflesh on his arms. It’s uncharacteristically cold tonight, especially for the summer months, and he’s impatient and freezing, only wearing a thin button up shirt and rolled up chinos.  

Paul, the cab driver, glares up at him with squinty blue eyes over his wire eyeglasses. His bushy brows are scrunched together, making them look like fluffy white caterpillars. He shoots out one hand on the knob of the stereo, turning down the sound of Mariah Carey floating through the speakers and looks at Louis, thoroughly unimpressed.

“This is my favorite song,” Paul says, ignoring his question as he adjusts the newsboy cap on his hat.

“Yes and?” Louis sighs and nudges his phone toward Paul so he can take another look at the address Aiden had sent him earlier. It’s been over ten minutes and he knows he’s late.

“And, you’re interrupting it,” Paul says simply, turning up the music once again and closing his eyes, “And you owe me fifteen quid.”

Louis sighs frustratingly and tries his best to stop himself from pounding the top of the cab. He looks back up at the building they’re pulled up in front of. Well not just any building, but a fucking posh hotel. Head tilted up, he glances up at the extravagant building shooting up into the sky, frosty panes of glass juxtaposed against smooth white brick. There’s no way this is the place where Aiden wanted him to meet him, he’s pretty sure he lives in London for fucks sake, why on earth would he ask him to meet him at a hotel? Never mind one of the most expensive hotels in London. There has to be a mistake.

He voices his concerns, interrupting Paul’s throaty croons of _Fantasy,_ “There has to be a mistake.”

Paul opens one eye, pressing his back further into the seat and pointedly closing both his eyes tighter as he sings terribly off-key, “ _When I close my eyes…”_

“You know what would be a fucking _sweet sweet fantasy_? If you could do your job,” Louis hisses, losing his patience. He swats the green pine tree air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror for emphasis.

“Look kid,” Paul sits up and glares at him, “I’ve been driving this cab for twenty years now. I know London. You’re at the right place, now pay up or else I’ll start charging you for every minute you keep me here. And for damaging my pine tree.”

Louis’ just about to show _Paul_ a piece of his mind when Harry’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He holds a finger up at Paul and pulls it out, “Give me a second. We aren’t done here, _Paul._ I reckon your name isn’t even Paul. I bet it’s actually compulsive liar. Seeing as you spew lies.”

He rolls his eyes as he opens up the message, the sound of Mariah even louder now.

_you here yet? room 945._

Louis immediately flushes red because that, unmistakably, is a hotel room number.

“You ready to pay me yet?” Paul asks as soon as he pockets his phone.

Louis grumbles, fishing his wallet out of his pocket and shoves two tenners in Paul’s face, ignoring his smirk. He hates being wrong.

“Keep the change,” he mumbles as Paul wiggles his goddamn eyebrows and grabs the money smugly. He turns on his heels and hurries towards the hotel lobby before he thinks better of it and immediately runs back to the cab, knocking on the window.

Paul rolls the window down, with an eyebrow raised, “Yes?”

 Louis just leans forward in the window, face uncomfortably close to his.

“By the way, Whitney is better,” is all he says before he’s rushing back to the entrance of the hotel giggling, the comically outraged expression on Paul’s face imprinted in his memory.

No one ever said he wasn’t petty.

 

“Hello?” Louis calls out knocking on the door to room 945 for the third time. The faint sound of thumping EDM music seeps out through the crack underneath the door and floats into the hall. He stands up on his tiptoes, internally cursing his height and tries his best to peek through the tiny peephole on the door. He can’t see anything.

Sighing, he scrolls back through Harry’s mobile, glaring at the unread text he sent Aiden five minutes ago.

 _Fuck it,_ he thinks after glancing at the messages and reaches to twist the doorknob. If Aiden won’t answer the door, he will himself.

To his surprise, it’s unlocked. The door opens easily, swinging open.

“Oh god,” Louis squeaks immediately shielding his eyes when he sees Aiden standing up in the middle of his bed, the unmistakable image of a half hard cock and hairy balls swaying between his legs, “that’s a penis.”

“Louis!” Aiden calls out over the sound of Rihanna’s voice pounding from the speakers, Calvin Harris’ _This Is What You Came For_ on full blast, “Welcome to my penthouse.”

There’s only two words to describe Aiden’s _penthouse_ : Fucking. Ridiculous.

Louis surveys the room through the cracks between his fingers and _yeah_ fucking _ridiculous._ Everything about it.

It’s huge, probably the biggest suite in the hotel considering it’s on the penthouse level and it looks like something out of a high budget porno. The floors are covered in plush, maroon carpet and the very far left of the wall is made of glass, curtains swept up and held back by golden hooks, opening up to a porch and a glamorous view of the city. All the lights are dimmed, colored beams of light darting around the room to the beat of the music. There’s a _goddamn_ stripper pole in one corner (which, call him crazy, but Louis’ pretty sure most hotels keep stripper poles in their suites), a black tie hooked around it and a discarded thong next to it.

In the center of it all is a soft white spotlight right smack in the middle of the ceiling, glowing over a huge round bed, the sheets silky red, throw pillows sprawled everywhere. And, just because that wasn’t enough, two model gorgeous girls (Louis’ sure they could be Victoria’s Secret Angels), are _pillow fighting_ (is this a parody movie? This _has_ to be a joke) on the bed, a redhead and a blonde, both dressed in matching black lace lingerie looking half fucked out of their minds.

Aiden jumps off the bed, gracing Louis with yet another high definition 1080p visual of his half hard dick and balls swinging like Newton’s bloody cradle with the momentum. Louis makes a mental note to call his therapist after this experience.

Doctor Sandra’s about to hear an earful.

He stops in front of Louis, lips curled up in a half grin, acting like his dick isn’t obnoxiously flopping around in the air and presses a remote, turning the music down, “How do like it? Pretty nice yeah?”

“Uh, yeah,” Louis replies, trying his best to ignore Aiden’s cock right between them. He focuses on the stripper pole instead, watching as the tie sadly begins to fall from its position and slide down towards the floor.

Aiden doesn’t seem to mind though. Apparently he has zero shame (which, honestly isn’t that surprising at all). He turns around, mooning Louis with two hairy pale arse cheeks and bends down, exposing the _crack_ of dawn (god he _really_ didn’t need to see _that_ ), picking up two crystal glass flutes of bubbly perched atop a golden platter. He holds one out to Louis, “Champagne? It’s Krug 1988.”

Normally, Louis would consider himself above drinking before 8 PM (no he wouldn’t, he gets smashed at 6 AM in the morning) but after his traumatic experience, he figures he deserves it.

“Please,” Louis says, accepting the glass and tipping half it back, the prickly feeling of fizz pleasant as it slides down his throat. It’s _good_ fucking champagne, the taste of something spicy and fruity and delicate lingering on his palate.

Aiden looks at him amusedly, refilling his glass, “Rough day?”

“Yeah, you should fucking know,” Louis sighs, gratefully taking another sip of his drink, savoring it this time.

“Right, come this way, step into my office,” Aiden announces, walking back to the bed in a few large strides. He falls down on the mattress and pats the space next to him expectantly.

Louis wrinkles his nose, glancing at the slightly damp sheets and the two girls who have now crowded next to Aiden as soon as he’s sat down, like moths to a light. Both of them start kissing up the column of his neck. The blonde one presses her breasts into Aiden’s back, mouthing docilely behind his ear as Aiden pays her no mind, focusing on his champagne.

He’s pretty sure he sees what looks like a used condom next to a pillow.

“No thanks,” Louis replies dryly, spotting a milky clear streak of liquid glistening on the blankets. This place is a biohazard.

“Oh come on, I still need a brunette,” Aiden wiggles his eyebrows, “Wouldn’t you want a pretty brunette to join us?” He asks the girls, smacking the redhead’s arse playfully. She laughs and nods wordlessly, falling into his chest like a doll.

Louis presses his mouth into a thin line. He’s had enough of Aiden’s antics.

“Cut the shit Grimshaw. You know why I’m here.”

Aiden pouts, “Do we have to? I was having fun.”

Louis has to stop himself from physically throttling Aiden. Harry is fucking missing, SOMEONE FUCKING SHOT HIM WITH A TRANQUILZER GUN, and now he’s dealing with a dick and his dick who both refuse to cooperate. He clenches his fists, pretending the air between his fingers is Aiden’s neck. It’s only a little therapeutic.

“Yes. We do,” He grits and Aiden rolls his eyes.

“Fine, fine if you insist,” he sighs and motions for him to continue.

“Um,” Louis coughs, eyes darting between the redhead and blonde.

“What?” Aiden asks, swirling his glass in a small circular motion. Louis gives him a tired look and motions towards the two girls.

Aiden sits up, as if suddenly remembering it’s not just him and Louis in the room despite the fact that the girls are currently massaging his shoulders with slow, exaggerated caresses, whining needily as they rub their bodies against his.

“I forgot about you two for a second,” he says, clapping his hands together, “Jessica, Samantha, off. I’ve had enough today.”

As if on command, they immediately step off the bed together in synchronization and begin to pack up what little clothes they’ve left on the floor. It’s freaky. They’re like robots.

“It’s Savannah,” the blonde pouts, reaching for a discarded black dress on the ground. She shimmies it on easily, like she’s done it hundreds of times, neatly tucking her bra straps underneath the sleeves and hooking her garters back onto her stockings.

Aiden raises both of his eyebrows in irritation, “Did I pay for you to be Savannah?”

Savannah flushes, complexion fading into a bright shade of pink and huffs as she pulls on her stilettos, the unmistakable Louboutin red lining peeking out of the bottom. Louis scoffs to himself, tapping his foot impatiently as she pulls the elastic edge of her thigh highs once more, letting them snap against her skin when she lets go. Can this be any slower?

“It can be Samantha,” she immediately replies and pushes back a strand of honey yellow hair behind her ear. She brushes by in a fragrant cloud of sex, tobacco, and expensive perfume, something musky and overpowering but clearly feminine, coming stand next to Aiden, glossy pink lips pressing a sticky, pillowy kiss on his cheek, “Please don’t tell Don about that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Aiden waves her off, and motions to two velvet boxes on the night stand. Savannah and Jessica open them up, not even sparing a second glance or looking particularly impressed as they clip on the two diamond tennis bracelets on their wrists. They’re glittering, dripping with jewels, looking too heavy for their twig thin wrists.

_Those have to cost a small fortune._

“Thanks for the ice babes,” Jessica says, blowing Aiden a kiss as she leaves. Savannah winks at him, blowing him her own kiss, “Have fun you two.”

The door shuts closed with a resounding click. Louis marches right up to Aiden who’s now, thankfully, pulling on a pair of Calvin Klein’s.

“What do you know about Harry?” Louis asks firmly, crossing his arms as authoritatively as he can. He’s not sure it works, because Aiden only spares him a fleeting glance before he’s whizzing past him, choosing a neatly ironed pair of tailored black trousers from a small suitcase. He takes his sweet time as he slides them up his legs as slowly as possible which only ticks Louis off even more.

“Did you bring the bananas?” Aiden asks, ignoring the situation at hand to ask for _bananas._

Louis _really_ wants to choke him now. He’s _this_ close.

“Yes I brought your bloody bananas. What did you even need those for anyway?” he spits and tosses the three pieces of fruit at Aiden a little too forcefully, aiming them so they’ll hit him in the nose ( _and hopefully break it, if bananas can break noses that is)._ He fully intends to wipe the permanent smirk off his face.

Aiden’s reflexes seem to be weirdly sharp though, and he catches all three bananas with ease without even looking up like some fucking ninja slash Tarzan as he takes a break from buttoning up his crisp white Armani shirt to free his hands, “Got hungry.”

He steps around Louis with a half peeled banana in his hand and tosses another one on the carpeted floor. Without a second thought, Aiden grabs the bottle of champagne and dumps the rest of the contents of the bottle on top of the banana.

Louis’ sure he almost gets a heart attack.

“What the hell are you doing?” He hisses in horror as he watches the thousand pound Krug bubble as it sinks into the _hundred_ _thousand_ pound carpet, the muted sound of carbon bubbling slowly fading into silence. He didn’t even pay a quid for this suite _or_ the champagne and he’s horrified. It’s actually physically painful. “Are you fucking insane?”

“May you rest easy, Harambe,” Aiden sighs and drops the bottle, toasting his own banana solemnly toward the ceiling before taking a bite and throwing the rest of it behind his back. It thuds softly next to a ripped up foil Magnum XL condom wrapper.

Louis’ eye is twitching at this point.

“Harambe,” he repeats slowly, “Harambe.”

“Saw it on the telly this morning,” Aiden sighs, “truly tragic.”

“You made me bring you bananas. Because you wanted to toast a deceased gorilla you saw on the news.”

“Hey now, show some respect for the dead,” Aiden scowls, “Anyway, the third one is for Harry. He gets grumpy when he’s peckish.”

“Yes!” Louis nearly screams, “Harry! Finally you’re on topic. We need to find Harry!”

“Calm down,” Aiden shakes his head, pushing past a hysterical Louis to glance himself in the mirror as he shrugs on his sharp, expensive looking suit jacket and fixes his slightly wilted quiff.

“How can I calm down?! He’s been _kidnapped.”_

“Give me a second will you? And quit pulling your face like that, you’ll get wrinkles. ” Aiden sighs and tugs on a pair of polished Italian leather shoes, walking toward the back of the room and opening up the door to the closet. Louis watches as he disappears inside, the sound of him rifling around muffled through the wall.

“It’s not a big deal, he’ll be fine. There hasn’t been anything I couldn’t fix, trust me,” Aiden grunts, something thumping as it falls on the ground. Just a minute later, he comes back out of the closet ( _no more closet jokes, Louis_ ) with a silver metal briefcase and sets it on the bed.

There’s a huge electronic lock sealed on the latch, like something out of a spy movie. Aiden lifts it up so its eye level, cautiously punching a code in until the sound of a click cuts through the room. Louis watches curiously as he lifts the case open, eyes widening as Aiden pulls out two slim matte black handguns.

“Why do you…why do you have those?” Louis manages to choke out in disbelief as he looks at the weapons now displayed on the bed.

Aiden’s short with him as he answers, as if it’s the most obvious explanation in the world, “Work.”

 _Call him crazy_ , but Louis’ starting to think at this point that Harry and Aiden aren’t exactly just your typical salesmen.

Aiden interrupts his line of thought before he can even ask him anything about the supposed _sales_ they’re involved in, picking up one pistol and lifting it out of the soft foam padding its laid in. He closes one eye, squinting as he inspects it carefully, running his fingers down the barrel, “You know how to shoot?”

Louis swallows as he eyes the gun warily, “No.”

Aiden just smirks, tosses him the other one and chuckles as he fumbles to catch it.

“Don’t worry. You’ll know what to do when you need it.”

 

 

****

 

"You mind explaining what we’re doing again?” Louis hisses.

They’re sitting in Aiden’s Rolls Royce, looking anything but inconspicuous in the flashy car (he had insisted on taking this one, despite owning several other much more _subtle_ vehicles). The address that had been on Harry’s phone had taken them outside of the city, to an isolated mansion hours away.

He rests his forehead on the cool window of the car, surveying his surroundings the best he can in the early evening light. The sun has begun to set, casting a soft purple-orange tinted glow on the world. Looking over, he examines the thin black metal gate that they’re currently parked in front of. Tall spires shoot out of the sides of it, an intricate pattern of metal work twisting into elegantly crafted shapes and whirls.

Behind the gate sits a long winding driveway lined with tan and sandstone colored pebbles. Neatly manicured shrubberies are placed in perfectly straight lines on each side of it, spaced thoughtfully to create a symmetrical effect leading up to a sprawling manor.

Frankly, they’re at the last place Louis had expected them to be. He had prepared himself to be led to a sketchy warehouse somewhere in the middle of the city, not a beautiful home somewhere outside of London. Isn’t that what usually happens in hostage situations anyway?

Aiden’s leant over his lap, shuffling through the glove box, “Give me a second.”

Louis tries and flattens himself against the back of his seat in irritation as Aiden elbows him sharply in the chest during his attempt to retrieve whatever it is he’s trying to find.

“Oof,” He grunts, rubbing his sore pec, “why are you so bony?”

“Shut up,” Aiden frowns, finally leaning back into his seat with two harnesses and a bag of supplies in his hand. He tosses one to Louis who startles when it falls into his lap.

Louis picks it up, letting it hang limply from his grip, and looks down at the harness, frowning, “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Exactly what you think you’re about to do,” Aiden says, climbing out of the car to strap on his own harness and nodding towards the house, “We’re getting up there.”

“Can’t we just use the front door?” Louis protests.

Aiden gives him an unamused look, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he responds, “Yeah, that won’t go wrong at all. Let’s ring the doorbell and let the kidnapper invite us in like a proper good host. Do you think he’ll take our coats?”

Louis’ gaze drifts back out the window, swallowing as looks back at the manor. It’s huge and very _very_ tall. It has to be at least three stories up, high enough that there’s no doubt in his mind that if he fell on the way to the top of the roof, he’d have a slim chance of surviving (and a 100% chance that he’ll probably break _at least_ half the bones in his body if he’s lucky).

He can already picture himself dangling off the wall, slipping on a loose brick or losing his footing. Even if he did manage to make it up halfway with no problems, there’s always the off-chance whoever invited them here could come out and shoot them.

Yeah, that’s a pleasant thought.

He scrunches his nose, the brief image of his blood splattered on the clean pale walls of the house flashing before his eyes. Now’s not the time to be morbid.

 _Harry’s in there,_ he reminds himself, _Harry’s in there, Aiden lives in expensive hotels and keeps guns with him for some reason, you have no idea what’s going on with your life at the moment and you could, most likely, die falling off the roof of a stranger’s house. But Harry’s in there and he needs you._

“You still coming?” Aiden taps the roof the car impatiently and Louis swallows.

“Yeah, yeah. M’ coming.”

It can’t be that bad can it?

 

 

****

 

It’s that bad.

Louis is standing on the very top of the roof, clinging to the edge of the chimney with a death grip. He’s squeezing so hard, he can feel the rough material of brick leaving imprints on his palms. The blood has rushed away from his knuckles, leaving them pale white. To make matters worse, the sun has almost completely set and he can only vaguely make out his surroundings, everything cloaked in faded darkness—deep sea blue and black.

His knees wobble at their own accord, shaking like gelatin, like a fawn just learning to take its first few clumsy steps. The wind has picked up as well, blowing furiously, whipping against him. He’s sure a large gush could easily push him over like a wobbly leaf. Any wrong movement and he could slip and fall to his death.

_Why did I agree to this again?_

_Harry,_ he reminds himself once again, _Harry is why you’re doing this._

Aiden, being the insane fucking person he is, clucks his tongue impatiently and circles the chimney as if he were taking an afternoon stroll and not currently three stories high above the ground. He must have a death wish. Or he’s one of those crazy white people that base jump and illegally climb skyscrapers because they get off on it.

Could be both.

“We don’t have all day Louis,” Aiden checks his Rolex for emphasis and motions toward the edge of the roof, “I’ve already unlatched the window. Everything’s ready.”

Once they had reached the top of the manor (Louis’ surprised he was able to make this far without pissing himself or dying, or both) Aiden had told him to sit put while he worked on prying open one of the huge windows on the very back of the house. He had reattached his harness and jumped off the edge of the roof with a salute like a madman.

Louis is _sure_ they don’t teach that in business school.

“I am not jumping through a window.”

“You won’t be jumping through the window for the thousandth time, bloody hell. I’ll be _lowering you down_. Completely different.”

“I’ll be squeezing through a window and freefalling three stories. Same shit. And trust me, I’d rather fall than put my life in _your_ hands.”

“Yeah, well you don’t have much of a choice. Now let go of the chimney or I’ll push you myself.”

Louis blinks. Aiden’s got his hands on his hips now, looking thoroughly annoyed and 100% serious about pushing him off. He closes his eyes and sends a quick prayer, even though he’s never been particularly religious. It can’t hurt just in case, right?

_Right?_

“Alright, alright,” Louis concedes, huffing as he finally loosens his grip from the chimney to take a couple tentative steps toward where Aiden is standing, “No pushing necessary, fuck just give me a minute.”

He swallows hard, a bubble of air sliding down his throat. If his legs were wobbly before, he’s sure they could give at any second now. The breeze picks up again, air blowing across his face and throwing his fringe in front of his eyes. He shivers and tugs at the harness that’s tightly buckled and strapped around his waist one more time just to check if it’s still properly clipped on. It seems tight enough, and he’s sure—

“Shit!” Louis screams when he suddenly feels a firm hand plant itself on the center of the back and his feet are no longer on solid ground. He’s in the air now, his stomach dropping and his heart beating faster than the wings of a hummingbird. He falls impossibly fast, the night sky a smudged blur as drops.

_I’m going to die._

Gusts of wind blow against him, his entire body turning cold. The only thing he can manage to do is shut his eyes before he hits the ground. His heart is hammering against his chest and he waits for it, waits for the impact and the pitch black to come.

It doesn’t. In less than a second, he feels the rough tug of his harness against his pelvis and he’s being thrusted a couple yards back up in the air. He groans, the pain of the straps against his crotch and thighs searing through his lower body as his eyes fly open. 

“Having fun?” Aiden’s amusement-filled voice calls from above.

“You fucking bastard! I thought I was going to die! I’ll have your head on a stick the next time I see you, you bloody psychopath!” Louis screams, seeing red. If he was a volcano he’d be exploding right now.

“You have such a way with words,” Aiden’s head pops out over the edge of the roof, the same damn smirk on his face.

Louis’ not sure what to say to that exactly, too busy seething with anger. He settles for one shrill high pitched shriek, legs kicking out in front of him.

“Oh fuck!” He shouts, when the momentum from the kick makes him start swinging from his harness, the thin wires that are holding him up from the roof moving side to side. He makes the mistake of looking down, immediately feeling light headed when he sees just how high up he is, now only a wire protecting him from falling to the ground below. In the dark, he can make out the last banana he had in his pocket, now splattered several yards below him. 

Aiden clicks his tongue, shaking his head disapprovingly as follows his gaze, “Harry won't like that. He loves bananas."

"Are you serious?!" Louis screams. 

Aiden shushes him, "Quiet down there. We don’t want to bother our host now do we?”

Louis contemplates using the gun currently strapped to his waist. Murder doesn’t seem too drastic at this point.

He’s being jostled before he can even reach for his weapon though, a heavy weight on the other side of the wire. Aiden’s rappelling down the wall, whistling as he comes to settle down next to Louis. He leans back in his own harness, dark brown eyes sparkling in amusement when he comes face to face to Louis’ outraged expression.

“I want to kill you,” Louis says.

Aiden snorts, “Get in line.”

Yeah, he’s a psychopath.

“Do you offer express passes to the front?” Louis snarls as Aiden rolls his eyes and swings his harness further, grabbing Louis’ end of the wire to move him with him. He presses himself flat against the giant window, forehead resting against the cool glass as he looks into the house.

Louis peers into the clear glass himself, eyebrows raising when he sees the interior of the mansion. He’s looking directly down into an open living room. The ceiling is so high it reaches the very top of the house. He can’t make out much other than that, it’s completely dark inside, all the lights shut off.

“You first,” Aiden pushes the window open, tilting his head toward the opening.

Louis gulps, looking at him skeptically, “You sure you don’t want to go first?”

Aiden rolls his eyes, “Not if you want to actually fall this time. I have to work the wires.”

“Fine, fine,” Louis says and makes for the window. He figures he should just get it over with in case Aiden decides to pull something that’ll nearly kill him again.

He grabs the edge of the window, lowering himself feet first into the house. Once he’s entirely in, he nods to Aiden who is setting up another wire and pulley. It looks too complicated for him to make sense of.

“Alright, get ready,” Aiden says, firmly holding to the edge of the window. He unclips something and the wire begins to lengthen, slowly lowering Louis down to the ground.

Louis grasps the front of his harness, chanting _relax_ to himself silently as he tries to ignore the shaky movement of the wire being extended. Everything’s fine, he’s breaking into the house of a deranged kidnapper and his life is in the hands of Aiden Grimshaw. Yep, he’s _fine._

Aiden follows shortly after, just a yard or two above of him. Louis can hear him breathing, his own senses heightened, the hairs on the back of his neck raised as he waits for them to both descend to the floor.

He’s nearly on the ground when the lights flicker on. Suddenly his wire loosens and he’s falling for the second time that night.

“Ow,” Louis mumbles when his body hits the floor with a thump. He lands face first, nose smashing into the floor. Fortunately, the carpet softens his fall.

Unfortunately, Aiden follows right after him, landing on top of him unceremoniously.

Louis groans, Aiden’s heavy weight on his back knocking the wind out of him, “Get off.”

“Baby! Are you okay? Help him up Nick!”

Louis’ head immediately snaps up, the only thing his brain processing is the _voice._ The slow familiar drawl settling in his ears. _Harry._

“Pipe down, froggy.” Another voice fills the room.

Aiden immediately pushes himself off from where he’s draped over Louis, moving lightning fast to where a figure is standing.

“ _You,_ ” Aiden snarls, “I should’ve known.”

Louis sits up, rubbing his sore nose. Aiden is standing in front of another man who looks vaguely like him. He’s thin and stick-like, towering a good foot over him. His hair is dark and styled in a quiff, long lanky arms crossed over his chest. He’s got the same smarmy smirk on his face that Aiden always seems to be sporting, except it’s somehow even more obnoxious on him. Louis’ quite impressed. He didn’t think it was possible.

“Nice seeing you too baby brother,” the man responds, “It’s been what? Five years now?”

Aiden’s mouth twists into a frown, stabbing his finger in the center of his brother’s chest, “Five years too short. What do you want?”

“Tsk, tsk,” Nick scolds him, “We have guests Aiden. You should be more polite, not that you were ever good at manners. If mum saw you now, she would throw a fit.”

“Fuck off,” Aiden clenches his fists.

Nick sighs exasperatedly, glancing toward the center of the room, where there’s a lovely antique table set up. Floral printed porcelain china is carefully arranged on a pristine white tablecloth. There are gleaming white plates filled with finger sandwiches, biscuits, scones, and thick slices of cakes. Lace doilies circle the table, dainty saucers filled with cream and milk and shallow dishes of sugar cubes laid next to matching cutlery. At the very end of the table, is Harry. He’s sitting on the edge of his seat with a tiny gold-edged plate in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, his ankle handcuffed to the leg of the table, looking over at Louis worriedly. He looks tired, faint rings of darkness underneath his eyes, but no more worse for wear.

_Thank god he’s not hurt._

Louis breathes, unsure of whether to move to where Harry’s sitting or stay put. _God_ he wants to so much, wants to wrap his arms around Harry’s shoulders and ask if him he’s okay. But the way Aiden’s standing, shoulders set defensively makes him think twice. If Aiden doesn’t trust Nick, he’s not sure if he should too. He doesn’t know what he’s capable of.  

“Join us for a cuppa? A bit late for tea time, but we’ve been waiting for you all day. I even took out the nice china.”

“I’m not touching your shit Nick. Tell me what you want and release my business partner.”

Nick rolls his eyes, walking over the table and pulling out a seat across from Harry, “You’ve always been one for theatrics. Don’t know how I lived with it after all these years. Have a scone, I even picked up some rhubarb jam from the market. You too,” Nick nods towards where Louis is sat on the ground, like an afterthought.

That’s all Louis needs before he’s on his feet. He runs toward the table, straight to Harry, and launches himself at him, arms coming to loop around his neck. Harry catches him, having set his tea down, and immediately squeezes him tightly around the waist. He sighs, balanced on Harry’s thighs, and buries his face in his hair, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne and lemon shampoo.

“I missed you so much,” Louis whimpers, muffled where his lips are pressed against the top of Harry’s head. Harry nuzzles his face into Louis’ neck, solid and warm and comforting. He feels like _home._

“Are you okay?” Harry asks when they finally pull apart to look at each other. His hand comes to rest on Louis’ cheek, long fingers stroking the side of his face tenderly and carefully, “I saw you on the roof baby, I was so worried. That fall wasn’t pretty. Are you hurt?”

Louis bites his lip, Harry’s so goddamn sweet, looking after him even though _he_ was the one who was kidnapped, “Baby, I could ask you the same. Did he hurt you?”

“Please, I’m not a barbarian,” Nick interrupts from the other side of the table, stirring a sugar in his tea, “he’s fine. I’m an excellent host. Even took his coat.”

Louis shoots Aiden a look from where he’s perched on Harry’s lap, “Told you we could’ve taken the front door.”

Aiden flips him the bird, stalking over the table and taking a seat begrudgingly next to his brother who looks absolutely delighted.

“Your friend here is right, I was about to fetch you from the front gates myself anyway. I have cameras all around this property you know,” Nick hums, offering a fig tart to Aiden who just swats his hand away, “quite sloppy of you, sneaking in like that.”

“If you were going to invite us in, why didn’t you?” Aiden glares at Nick.

His brother just shrugs, a carefree smile on his face, “Was more entertaining watching you climb my roof. And a Rolls Royce and harnesses, really? I see those Bond fantasies still haven’t died. Honestly, you’ve always been so dramatic.”

Aiden slams his hands on the table, the cup of tea in front of him sloshing with the force, “Me?! Dramatic? You’re the one who _kidnapped_ my business partner because you wanted to get to me. Couldn’t you just drop me a line like a normal person?”

Nick purses his lips in a thin line when he sees the droplets of tea stain the table cloth, “When have we ever been _normal_ little brother? Anyway, I knew you wouldn’t come if I didn’t borrow your Tommy Wiseau look—alike friend here. He has been excellent company.”

“Hey!” Harry pouts, “I don’t look like Tommy Wiseau.”

Louis pats his head soothingly, peppering kisses on his face, “Its ok baby. _The Room_ is a classic.”

Nick pauses, face twisted in revulsion as he watches them.

“…Anyway,” He says as he turns toward Aiden, “now that I’ve got you here, we need to talk.”

“No,” Aiden emphasizes, tearing up a napkin and attempting to throw the pieces at his brother, “we don’t.”

“Yes we do. You’ve been quite naughty recently,” Nick leans back, “I’ve seen you all over the news. The National Gallery? Really Aiden?”

Louis perks up, mouth dropping open, “Did you say the National Gallery? That was _you_?”

“Not just me,” Aiden mumbles, looking directly at Harry.

Louis immediately turns his head to look down at him. Harry smiles at him sheepishly, “Oops?”

“Harry Edward Styles,” Louis gasps, clearly affronted as he plants his palms on Harry’s broad shoulders and looks down at him, “if that’s even your real name, _you lied to me_.”

Harry places his hands on Louis’, pulling them off his shoulders to hold them, rubbing soothingly at his palms, “Technically, I didn’t lie. I am a salesman,” he bites his lip, “we sell the paintings we steal on the black market.”

“Yes,” Nick says, “And you’ve been stealing _my revenue_. Which I can no longer have you doing.”

“Is this why you’ve brought me here? Because you’ve been jealous that I might _actually_ be better than you at something?” Aiden spits, “I make my money fair and square. Sorry to burst your bubble _big brother_ but I’ve been doing great ever since I left. Does that threaten you?”

“Threatened,” Nick echoes, letting out a shout of laughter. He reaches in his suit to pull out a silk pocket square, wiping the tears at the corner of his eye.

“I’m not threatened. Far from it,” He says, folding the handkerchief neatly,”What you’re doing is impressive for an _amateur_ but I’m the one with an established empire. You are not. And before you say anything, I’ve been following you for the past couple years, keeping an eye on you. I know,” Nick snorts when he sees Aiden’s shocked expression, “Oh please. It wasn’t hard at all. You aren’t exactly subtle.”

“Just get to the fucking point and tell us what you want from me,” Aiden groans, “I don’t have forever you know.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Louis interrupts, his head spinning with this overload of new information. He’s just learned that his not-boyfriend conducts art heists for a living, he deserves an explanation at the very least, “If you’re stealing paintings and selling them, how are they getting returned back to the museums?”

Aiden looks at him dully, “Simple. Harry forges a copy. No one notices. It’s really not that hard.”

Nick nods, “He is immensely talented. I’m surprised no one has caught you two yet, or noticed that you’ve been replacing priceless works of art with fakes.

“You forge them? And not one person has noticed?” Louis asks, voice trailing off.

The thing is, he feels strangely _proud_ , proud because this is consistent with Harry’s beautiful and masterful artwork, proud that Harry’s been able to fool art museums with staffs that are _trained_ to know art into thinking that his replicas are originals. _Which_ is exactly _not_ what he should be feeling. Harry’s been lying to him about being a professional criminal this entire time, he should be fucking outraged.

And yet, he’s not. Maybe it’s because he’s still reeling from his entire hell of a day, or still recovering from how worried and shocked he was about Harry’s disappearance. But in the grand scheme of things, Harry being an art thief is the least of his worries. He’s not dead or harmed, which, really is all that matters.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Harry looks at him with puppy dog eyes, “I just…I like you so much Louis. I didn’t want to fuck things up and have you running when you found out. You mean so much to me. ”

Louis touches his jaw, looking into his eyes, “Harry I… I can’t believe I’m saying this but…it’s okay.”

“You don’t have to forgive me Lou, I _lied_ to you. About something big—“

“Shh,” Louis presses his finger against his lips to quiet him, “Hear me out. I understand. And while it was very wrong for you to keep this from me this whole time, I get it. I would’ve probably done the same if I were in your situation. It’s not easy telling someone you’re an internationally wanted criminal,” Louis laughs a bit too hysterically when he says that (because, _what the fuck?)_ , “but honestly, I’m just glad you’re okay. I was worried out of my wits when I couldn’t find you. I care so much about you Harry, you’re wonderful to me and you make me feel so special. _You_ are so special. And I’d probably love you no matter what, even if you were a mass murderer.”

Louis pauses, scrunching his eyebrows together, “You aren’t a mass murderer right?”

Harry laughs, hand coming to grip Louis’ neck and pull his face down to his, “No, no mass murdering. Just stealing art and forgeries. Terribly boring, I’m afraid.”

Louis grins, finally pressing his lips against Harry’s like he’s been wanting to this whole time, been _craving_ it. They’re soft and warm against his, the faintest taste of bergamot and sugar on his skin. It feels so perfect here, with their mouths touched against one another’s, sliding together to fit like puzzle pieces. Like they were made for this.

They kiss, sweet and gentle and lovingly until they have to come up for air. Louis is the first to pull away, knocking his forehead against Harry’s and threading his fingers through his hair with a huff of a laugh, “It’s a good thing I like boring then.”

Harry looks at him like he’s hung the moon and the stars, hands kneading his hips.

Nick gags.

“You two are awful,” he complains, “Humans and their emotions. I’ve never understood. And I won’t have it at my table. I need to discuss business with my little brother anyway.”

Aiden slumps down in his chair even further, “Well I think it’s cute,” he protests, just to be contrary to his older brother.

“I know you’re disagreeing with me for the sake of it,” Nick glares at him, “Grow up.”

“ _Grow up,_ ” Aiden mocks, voice exaggeratedly high.

Nick shakes his head, mumbling to himself about proving his point, and stands up from his seat, “I’m unlocking you, Harry. I need to talk to my brother in private. You and Louis can wait out in the foyer.”

He stands in front of where Louis and Harry are sat, nose wrinkling when he sees them, Louis straddling Harry’s thighs, wrapped around him like an octopus.

“On second thought, here’s the key,” Nick tosses the key carelessly to Louis who has to stretch his arm to catch it, “I refuse to bend down just to unlock your restraint, it’s not becoming.”

Louis makes quick work at freeing Harry’s ankle from the table, despite having had to convince Harry to let go of him just for a couple seconds so he could get down on the floor and make do at undoing his lock. As soon as they’re finished, they quickly walk out to the foyer, the sound of Nick pointedly slamming the big double doors to the living room thudding behind them.

They’re by the front door now, the click of Harry’s boots against marble floor blending into quietness. Louis sits down by the base of the staircase, the ground cool and hard against his flesh. The foyer is dark, awash in a blend of soft navy, fading periwinkle, and the white glowing light from the moon shining through the glass panes over the door. He watches as Harry walks toward him, the moonlight scattered across the defined planes of his face, through the strands of his hair.

“So, an art thief huh?” Louis asks, hugging his knees to his chest.

Harry kneels down in front of him, his legs tucked underneath his bum, “Not the most…conventional occupation, I know.”

Louis lets out a puff of laughter, pressing his chin into his kneecaps, “That’s one way to put it.”

“Yeah,” Harry replies, sounding more timid than usual, “I know it’s…a lot to take in.”

Louis nods, studying Harry’s face carefully. His hair is falling over his face, long curls contrasting prettily against milky pale skin. Louis has to stop himself from reaching out and tucking it behind his ear.

“Why?” He asks after a beat of silence has passed.

Harry looks up at him, “What do you mean?”

Louis shrugs, “Why’d you become one? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Oh,” Harry says faintly, “I um, I don’t mind you asking. Not at all. I owe you an explanation at the very least.”

He hesitates, hand coming behind him to pick at his boot, “There’s not much as to _why_ if I’m being honest. I wish I had like, a redeeming story or something, or a more valid reason but… I don’t. Not really. It was easy money, and I needed it. Attending school and living in London, it wasn’t cheap, and I’d imagine you’d agree,” He glances at Louis who nods understandingly, “And being an artist, being interested in art, doesn’t exactly pay the bills. Especially when you’ve got a single mother to support. So when I met Aiden, I kind of just…went with it. I thought it’d be short term, maybe I’d do it once or twice to earn enough to pay my rent, but it went on. I was getting rich _quick_ and it was just good to pass up. Hell, just months in and I was making enough to buy a Mercedes for my mum, my sister, _and_ myself.”

He stops, suddenly turning bright red, “Plus, um…the thrill of a steal… kind of does something for me.”

Louis mulls over what Harry’s said in his head. It makes sense, despite being kind of ludicrous, but money’s hard to come by and he of all people should know art isn’t exactly lucrative (he’s had doubts about the profession he’s chosen to go into more than once).

The last part of his explanation though, that’s what really gets to him.

“Does something for you?” He asks, voice lilting up, even though he has a pretty clear idea of what Harry means.

Still, he can’t resist prodding, especially with the way it seems to make Harry get all squirmy.

Harry whines, hiding his hands in his face, “Don’t make me explain.”

Louis clicks his tongue teasingly, “Nuh uh Harry. You told me you owed me an explanation.”

“It…gets me off, you know, the possibility of getting caught, the thrill of it all _turns me on_ ,” Harry huffs, looking the other way as Louis starts cackling.

“You’re a fucking adrenaline junkie, I should’ve known” Louis stutters out between laughs, clearly envisioning the night Harry climbed through his window with a stiffie. Everything suddenly makes sense.

“Don’t kinkshame me,” Harry sticks his tongue out.

Louis rolls his eyes, thrusting forward to kiss him. He ends up with Harry narrowly dodging his mouth and licking the side wetly of his face like an overexcited puppy.

“Ugh, you’re disgusting,” Louis complains as he pulls back, wiping away the trail of saliva on his cheek.

“You love it,” Harry says, pulling Louis down to the ground as he slings an arm around his shoulders.

Louis moves easily underneath Harry’s touch, settling into his side as they sit on the ground together. He leans into him, letting his head fall on his broad chest, the steady beat of his heart against his ear.

“I suppose I do,” Louis sighs, feeling Harry shift as his hand comes to card through his hair. He closes his eyes, letting him pet his head, relishing in the soothing feeling of Harry’s nails dragging softly against his scalp.

“I didn’t forget what you said you know,” Harry says, voice rumbling in his chest, “Everything. About the painting, about what you said back there with Nick and Aiden. You’re so sweet Lou, so forgiving. I don’t deserve you.”

Louis grabs the hand in his hair, bringing Harry’s knuckles to his mouth as he leaves open mouth kisses against his skin, “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true though,” Harry mumbles and Louis wants to protest, but Harry just brushes his hand underneath his chin, as if to silence him, “And I’m selfish, for lying to you, for what I’m about to say. Especially with my occupation. You deserve better than a criminal.”

“Harr—” Louis begins, but he’s quickly being quieted by Harry who grabs the back of his neck, tilting his head so he’s looking into his eyes.

Everything about his gaze is soft, feathered around the edges, the green of his irises velvety smooth and glowing. He looks like angel, the pearl glimmer of the moon incandescent and radiant, pouring and glistening like stars on the tips of his lashes, cheekbones, and the top of his head. A halo made of celestial light. His jaw twitches, strong and razor sharp and he blinks slowly, lips parting just so slightly. Louis feels his voice die in his throat, so enchanted by _Harry,_ by the impossibly gentle way he’s looking at him, only feeling his own heart thump and Harry’s long fingers caressing his neck.

“Lou,” Harry says, deep and silky, “I love you too.”

And it’s everything Louis’ been waiting for and _more._ It’s just words, but it means so much. Here, just sitting on the ground, tucked in between Harry’s legs, he feels like he’s the star of his own romance movie. Like he’s living every single sappy song that’s been written about _love,_ like he finally understands why artists and poets wax on and on about falling in love, about being in love. And it’s not just him, Harry feels it _too._ Feels the overwhelming need to shout it from rooftops, to tell everyone that he’s in love, that someone else is in love with him.

“You don’t know long I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” Louis manages to breathe out before Harry’s grabbing his face and kissing him heatedly.

Their lips slot together, Harry licking into the seam of his lips until he opens up. It’s heated and a little rushed, but still perfect, Harry’s tongue dipping into his mouth. Louis groans, the sound muffled, as Harry grabs his thighs and lifts him so he’s straddling him. He latches onto Harry’s neck, letting out a surprised squeak when Harry leans back so he’s lying on the floor. He’s stretched out on top of him now, his narrow chest pressed against’ Harry’s broad one.

“I love you so much,” Louis pants as he comes up for air, “God I love saying that. I love you I love you I love you.”

Harry lets out a broken whine, his mouth wet and cherry red, pulling Louis back down so they’re kissing again. Louis falls back into him, light headed, dizzy, and hot all over.

Harry breaks away from him this time, pupils black and blown as he steadies Louis so they’re looking into each other’s eyes now, “Be my boyfriend?”

“Yeah, of course, _duh,_ ” Louis answers. They’re finally official. Took long enough.

“God, I can’t wait to call you my boyfriend,” Harry pants, hips thrusting up as he moans and messily nips at the column of his neck.

“That’s so fucking hot,” Louis says, throwing his head back so Harry has better access to his neck, “ _Boyfriend. God._ ”

Harry couldn’t agree more, and he lets Louis know by slipping his hand into the back of Louis’ trousers, fingers teasing the edge of his crack.

Just then, the door swings open, followed by a shriek.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing on _my floor_?!” Nick shouts.

Louis lifts his head, irritated because he’s just been interrupted. Harry follows, sitting up with his hand still on Louis’ bare arse. They both look disheveled, faces rogue and hair mussed.

Nick glares at them both, standing next to a disgruntled looking Aiden.

“I’m going to have to get this entire room disinfected. I cannot stand humans and their _needs._ You’re all so weak.”

“You’re just salty you’re still a virgin,” Aiden shakes his head, “Can we just hurry this along? I have three whores waiting for me back at my hotel room and I’d very much like to get my dick wet.”

Harry frowns, “Don’t call women whores, Aiden. We’ve been over this. It’s sexist.”

“Okay, Simone de Beauvior, why don’t get your hands out of Tomlinson’s ass and come here? As much as I’d love to watch you and power bottom have a go at it, we have business to discuss.”

“Hey!” Louis scowls at being called _power bottom_ only to be met with Aiden’s unimpressed gaze.

“Did I lie?” He asks.

Harry gets up, hand now no longer in Louis’ trousers, helping Louis stand, “Well…”

Louis hits his arm, “You’re supposed to be on _my side_!”

Nick coughs, clearly becoming impatient as Harry tries to loop his arms around Louis’ waist in apology.

“I can’t take this anymore, so I’m just going to start. Harry, Aiden’s agreed to partner with me now.”

“More like I was _forced_ to.”

Nick ignores him continuing on, “As I’ve said, Aiden’s decided to smarten up and join my extensive network. He'll be working with me now as my partner. And as for you Harry, don’t worry. I have two options for you.”

Harry lifts an eyebrow, “Yes?”

“I’m very impressed by your skills, you clearly have talent and I’d be happy to extend an invitation for you to work under me. You’d be essentially doing the same thing you’ve been doing this whole time, and being paid just as well for it.”

“What’s the other option?”

Nick pauses, stepping across the foyer with his arms behind is back, “I can secure you a job at any museum you’d want to work for. In London, I’d assume, but if you’d want to go anywhere else, I could most likely hook you up. I know that sounds odd, going from robbing museums to working for them, but I think you’d be immensely talented as an art restorer. And if you’re worried about pay, trust me, you’ll be handsomely compensated. I have connections in place to make sure of that.”

Louis can feel Harry stiffen behind him, arms suddenly tense from where they’re looped around his hips.

“It’s a big decision, I know,” Nick continues, “You’ve become accustomed to a certain _lifestyle_ with Aiden. And you can continue that, or go legal. Take your time with choosing, but not too long.”

“Please just choose quickly so I can _leave,_ ” Aiden complains, hitting his head against the wall.

“Give me a minute,” Harry says, grabbing Louis’ waist and turning him around so they’re facing each other. There’s a grin on his face, as he drops his head down so it’s just the two of them, in the little cocoon of Harry’s arms.

“Lou,” Harry starts, dimples popping, “This is perfect. I can get a legal job and we can be a normal couple. You won’t have to worry about me getting caught or anything.”

Louis worries his lip between his teeth. As much as he’d love to be a normal couple with Harry, he’s not sure it’s _him._ Part of what makes Harry _Harry_ is the fact that he loves what he does. He can tell he loves the adrenaline, the feeling of almost getting caught. He doesn’t want Harry to throw away the lifestyle he’s accustomed himself to because he feels like he owes it to Louis. He wants Harry to want it.

“Babe,” Louis says, “I’d love to be a normal couple with you, but I really think you should think this over. I don’t want you to change for me. I want you to do what you think is best for yourself, what you think would make you happiest. I’ll support whatever you choose and I’ll love you no matter what. Whether you’re a criminal or you’ve got a proper job at a museum. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Harry studies his face, his eyes softening and turning impossibly fond, “Lou, you make me the happiest. I love the thrill of stealing, yeah. But that can easily be replaced. I want to be serious with you. Want to date you and eventually move in with you and maybe even get married one day. I want to at least try. And I don’t think I can do that if I keep doing what I’ve been doing. What I’ve been doing with Aiden—it isn’t stable, I’m constantly traveling, narrowly getting caught.”

Louis _melts._ The thought of marrying Harry making butterflies flutter in his stomach. God, he’s so in love.

“What did I do to deserve you?” Louis sighs, burying his face in Harry’s neck as Harry chuckles.

“I’d ask you the same, love.”

Louis pulls back, touching the edge of Harry’s jaw, “I still want you to think this through though. At least for a couple minutes. I don’t want you to regret anything.”

Harry looks at him, deciding not to protest when he spots the serious look Louis’ giving him. He nods silently, and releases him from his grasp to turn toward Nick.

“Let’s talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again!! Your feedback means everything to me! And i apologize for how disproportionately long this chapter was compared to the rest of the work. The Epilogue will be up tomorrow!
> 
> Feel free to talk to me/hit me up on [tumblr](http://silkbombs.tumblr.com/) ! I love all of you lovely people and you always make my day.


	6. Epilogue

_Two Months Later_

 

“You’re coming down soon right?” Louis giggles into his phone, attempting to balance his mobile between his ear and shoulder as Zayn nuzzles into his side.

“I’ll be down in five minutes, babe,” Harry reassures him on the other end of the call and Louis smiles, attempting to nudge Zayn in the side with his elbow. He’s starting to tickle him and it’s getting annoying, especially since Zayn knows _exactly_ how ticklish he is.

“Okay, see you then,” Louis says, and quickly checks his watch to make note of the time, “Don’t forget meet me by the—”

“Steps out front, I know Lou you told me like five times this morning,” Harry chuckles, not sure as to what’s got Louis so wound up. He’s never this meticulous about plans, or _anything_ really. Louis’ always been more of the _go with the flow_ kind of guy.

Louis rolls his eyes, “Well excuse me for looking out after you, I don’t want you getting lost. I like you very much Harry Styles and I’d prefer to keep you for the time being.”

Harry has to bite his lip to keep himself from smiling from a loon in front of his co-workers. He knows Louis’ kidding; the chances of him getting lost on the way to the entrance of the museum are close to zero. Still his cheeks dimple as he responds.

“Of course baby, thank you for looking after me. I’ll meet you by the steps okay? Love you.”

Now _that_ isn’t fair. Louis blushes, Harry saying _I love you_ never seems to stop the warm titter of excitement that floods through him every time he hears it, and he _knows_ Harry knows how much he loves it when he says that. How it makes him feel all warm and melty on the inside. Evil bastard.

“God you’re so mushy. Maybe you should get lost, then I won’t have to deal with all your grossness,” He teases, knowing full well that Harry knows he means none of it. He’s not so secretly a hopeless romantic.

“The only lost I’ll get is lost in your eyes,” Harry sighs on the other side of the line.

Louis nearly hides his face in his hands at that, “That’s it. I’m hanging up now.”

Harry laughs, “Okay, okay that’s enough for today. I’ll be out front in a couple minutes. Bye Lou.”

Louis grips his mobile harder, still embarrassed by how cheesy his boyfriend is, replying before he hangs up the phone, “Bye. Don’t forget the steps!”

He puts his phone down only to be met with Zayn’s judgmental gaze.

“What?”

“You two are disgusting,” Zayn pulls a face, looking up at Louis through sleepy eyes from where his head is pillowed on his shoulder.

Louis snorts, attempting to push him off his shoulder once again, “Says the one who’s currently wearing a couples coordinated outfit.”

Zayn flushes at that, immediately mumbling under his breath, “Well we can’t _clash_.”

Louis raises an eyebrow, eyeing Zayn’s usual all-dark ensemble. He’d opted for a pair of destroyed grey skinny jeans and a black band shirt. Liam’s looking just as matching, dressed in skinny black trousers, a black vest shirt, and a grey flannel tied around his waist (Louis had honestly thought Liam only wore button ups and slacks up until recently).

They had started hanging out more, especially once Louis and Harry had become _official_. Double dates (plus Niall) were inevitable and Zayn had gotten the entire run-down on Harry’s _career_ right after Louis had found out himself. Zayn was pretty pissed at first, but Louis had known it was just his way of looking out for him. After some time, Zayn had mellowed and warmed up to Harry. They had bonded over fashion and painting and were even friends now.

 Zayn’s hair scratches at Louis’ cheek and Louis sighs, nudging him gently.

“Go cuddle your own boyfriend,” He says, nodding towards Liam who’s sitting on the other side of Zayn, their hands laced together. Zayn looks over at Liam, who’s currently examining the tray of coffees he’s got in his lap.

Liam frowns, too busy examining a cup of coffee to be paying attention to the conversation. There’s a plastic lid in one of his hands, the paper cup in the other as he squints into it, the rest of the drinks settled on his thighs, “The tulip I made on this latte got messed up on the way here. How can we present this to Harry?”

Well, that isn’t good. Louis had wanted to go as close to perfect as possible.

He leans over, taking a peek at the latte and letting out a breath of relief when he realizes the _mess up_ Liam had been referring to is barely noticeable. Liam’s always been an extreme perfectionist.

“Its fine Liam,” Louis reassures him, “Harry will love it regardless.”

“Yeah,” Zayn nods, pressing a kiss to the corner of Liam’s mouth in an attempt to calm him down.

“And if he doesn’t, I’ll gladly drink it,” Niall pipes up from where he’s sat on the other side of Louis.

Louis grins and pats Niall’s cheek fondly, gripping the tin-foiled wrapped cake he’s been balancing in his arms, “We’ll have plenty of stuff left over for you Niall.”

Niall grins, leaning back and humming to himself as he watches the clouds pass in the sky.

They’re sitting on the steps outside The National Gallery. Its warm today, the sky a pretty shade of bright eggshell blue, the sun hung high up, pastel yellow and beaming down on the city. Louis stretches his legs, his toes extended in front of him, as he watches people pass by. Everyone seems to be _happier_ today, the warm weather brightening moods and stripping away coats.

He lifts the wrapping on the cake he’s got in his lap, peering down to make sure it wasn’t jostled on the way here on the tube. It’s perfect, the frosting still perfectly intact and the lettering neat and straight (well, as neat as he could manage to make it). He mentally checks that off his list and peers over at Niall, who’s got a bunch of colorful balloons in one hand and the bouquet of daises he had picked up from the florist in the other. Zayn’s got the basket of pastries they had picked up from _The Drip_ and Liam the coffees.

Louis pats his pocket, feeling the box still in its place. He pulls it out, opening it up to look at the silver ship charm attached to a long, matching chain. He had seen it through the window of a pawn shop, and it immediately reminded of him Harry. He wasn’t planning on buying anything that day, but he knew he had to get it for Harry the moment he saw it. It was kind of how they met after all, a painting of a ship out at sea brought them together.

“There he is!” Niall whisper-shouts, nudging Louis’ side as he nods toward the entrance of the museum. Harry’s jogging towards them, long legs striding easily down the steps, looking beautiful as ever.

Louis quickly stands up, shoving the box back in his pocket as he watches Harry approach him. His long hair bounces with every step, the half buttoned shirt he’s got on swaying loosely against his torso, his face bright and lit up like the sun.

“Lou!” Harry calls out as he comes to a stop. He glances between Louis, the dish in his hand, and the rest of the boys stood next to him, “What’s all this?”

Louis blushes, failing to contain his excitement as he peels back the foil on the cake to present it to Harry. He holds it up so he can see it properly, watching carefully as Harry looks down at it. Harry’s eyes immediately light up when he reads the _Happy first day at work!_ message frosted in while lettering.

“Made it myself,” Louis says, puffing his chest out, “I didn’t even use cake mix this time.”

“Oh babe, I love it so much,” Harry says, bending over to give him a kiss, “I’m so proud of you for baking all by yourself.”

Louis grins when they pull apart, setting the cake on the ground, “I wanted to celebrate your first day at work so I brought the boys along. I know you’ll probably be tired, so we have coffee, Zayn’s got pastries if you get hungry, there’s balloons because we’re celebrating, and daisies because I know how much you love them.”

 Harry beams, green eyes glimmering impossibly bright, “You did all this for me? Just for my first day of work?”

“Yes,” Louis admits, letting Harry put his hands on his hips, “I also got you something else.”

“Love, you didn’t have to. This is already so much.”

Louis shrugs, feeling bashful suddenly, “I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to,” he reaches out of his pocket, placing the box in Harry’s hand.

Harry takes it, sparing him a surprised look before he opens it, pulling out the necklace.

“Oh,” He lets out a breath, “Oh Louis. I love it so much, it’s perfect. You’re perfect, my beautiful, thoughtful boyfriend.”

“It reminded me of how we met. You know, the boats,” Louis says, turning red.

Harry looks at him, looks at him like he’s his _everything_ and the rest of the world seems to freeze, everything but the two of them. All of London stopping just for a moment for them. Before he knows it, Harry’s shoving the box in his pocket and lifting him up, grabbing his waist as he twirls him in the air like they’re in a fairytale. Louis’ starting to believe he is.

They spin, the two of them as everything passes by in a whirl, the only thing focused in their visions each other. The way it should be.

When he comes down, he’s falling into Harry’s chest, face pressed against his sternum as Harry mumbles sweet nothings into his hair.

“You know,” Harry says, quiet enough so only he can hear, “I may have been the thief in this relationship. But you’re the one who stole my heart.”

And if Louis ends up smacking him upside the head, a permanent blush on his face for the rest of the day, well then that’s just what happens.

Because he loves Harry, bad jokes and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Larry isn’t real lol


End file.
